


Never Cage A Rabid Wolf

by tty9



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Prison, Baby Isaac, Barebacking, Blood and Violence, Bottom Derek, Bottom Stiles, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, It is to be noted that Matt and Isaac's relationship isn't consentual, M/M, Murder, POV Stiles, Prison, Prison Sex, Protective Derek, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, badass stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 49,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tty9/pseuds/tty9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sent to prison, and gets assigned to a cell with-  </p><p> <i>“Hale?!” Scott gasped as his gaze followed Stiles’s. “You got Derek Hale?! Oh boy, man, good luck with that buddy, that guy is a psycho!” His voice had become worryingly high pitched. Stiles’s heart started thumping in his chest, and he swore it actually skipped a beat when Hale looked up at them, his eyes searing into Stiles’s who quickly dropped his head. His beef (or was it pork?) slop suddenly looked very interesting.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been planning a Prison AU for AGES, because I can't believe I haven't read one yet! 
> 
> Un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> And YES there will be sexy times, but it will take a while in because you know build up.
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT 08/2015: This fic has been re-read and the story partially edited to correct previous errors. Any remaining mistakes are still my own. Feel free to point them out for correction!**

_Dispatch. Calling Sheriff Stilinski. Domestic disturbance on Peter street. Proceed to 32 Peter Street. Over._

 

Stiles looked over at his Dad who sighed and shifted in the drivers seat, turning the keys in the ignition.

 

“I guess we’ll have to postpone pizza night for an hour or so.” He muttered before pressing the gas, siren blearing.

 

Stiles held onto the dashboard from his place on the passenger’s side. Secretly, he wasn’t upset, the main reason he still let his dad pick him up from work on Friday nights (aka pizza night) was because that is when something was most likely to be going down in Beacon Hills.

 

The Sheriff’s car screeched to a halt outside a small, blue house and Stiles’s father opened the door before turning to him.

 

“Stay in the car, Stiles.” He warned, giving Stiles a knowing look.

 

“Aye aye captain.“ Stiles huffed and slumped into his seat dejectedly. He watched as his father walked up the steps of the house slowly and knock on the already ajar door. Stiles could faintly hear him call ‘Police, open up!’.

 

Stiles pressed his nose against the window in an attempt to get a closer look, but just ended up seeing his breath fog up the glass. He huffed again and pulled away lifting his hand up to wipe away the mist when _bang._

 

Stiles jumped up and shot out of the car, flailing when the seatbelt, still wrapped around him, pulled him back into the seat in a heap. He scrambled around to find the release and as soon as it pinged, freeing his chest, he sprinted up the steps of the house.

 

The door was fully open now. Stiles leapt in, looking wildly around for his father. The Sheriff was hunched behind a sofa and Stiles let out a breath of relief. The relief trickled into horror when he noticed his father was clutching his leg, hands coated in blood. Stiles scrambled to join him behind the sofa.

 

“D-Dad? Oh my God are y-“ he reached out to touch his dad’s shoulder when he heard a movement from across the room. He swung his head around and saw the man lunge at him, at his father, and then _bang._

 

Stiles opened his eyes, his body convulsing in shock. He looked down at the body at his foot… not his father. Not his father? What? Then he noticed the gun in his hand… How did that get there?

 

He turned from his shaking hands to look at his father who’s eyes where wide, and mouth was agape, staring at his son.

 

“Stiles.” He croaked, his voice hoarse. And his eyes turned to the body pooling blood onto the floor.

 

Stiles let out a ragged breath that he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding in. He breathed in, trying to get oxygen into his brain, but then couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let the breath out. He just kept breathing in short jagged breath after short jagged breath. In and in, until his cheek started tingling and he was becoming light-headed. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was having a panic attack but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what to do, how to stop it. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. It was only when he was face-down in the thick, dirty carpet, that he let his lungs release. The carpet filtered his breathing making him recycle his breaths, until he could turn his head to the side, eyes closed with concentration.

 

He felt something wet and sticky on his cheek and blinked opened his eyes. His eyes focused on the ashen face of his… victim? The young man he had just shot. Dead, green eyes staring right into his brown ones, blood seeping out of his mouth and seeking Stiles’s cheek on the carpet, determined to mark him as the murderer he apparently was now.

 

It took Stiles four attempts to pick himself off the carpet, it was only when his father groaned in pain that Stiles snapped out of his panic and focused on his father. He was gripping the wound on his leg, his eyes fluttering.

 

“Stiles.” He whispered. Stiles leant over his father to look at his wound. It was deep and oozing. Stiles bit back a gag and looked around for something to use as a tourniquet, finding nothing he stumbled to take off his belt. He secured the leg before dragging his father’s limp arm around his neck and pulling his body up with a grunt, shuffling out of the house and towards the squad car.

 

His father hissed in pain as Stiles placed him into the passenger’s side of the car. Stiles got into the driver’s seat and was about to turn the ignition when his father’s bloodied hand stopped him.

 

“No, Stiles.” His father said, his breath heavy and voice strained. Stiles turned at him questioningly, but dropped his hand.

 

“Son, you’re already… this is… you can’t… I just, need to call this in.” He looked pained for an entirely different reason as he pulled the car’s radio out of it’s pouch and spoke into it. After he’d finished he let the radio drop, not bothering to put it back in the pouch and leant back into the seat, eyes closing.

 

“Dad? I-” Stiles started, unsure of what to do or say, hoping the ambulance would get here soon.

 

“You should have stayed in the car.” Was all his father said before his body slumped, unconscious. Stiles chewed his lip, the faint sound of sirens the only thing he could hear.

 

\---

“Mr Stilinski.” The judge's voice echoed across the large room. Stiles winced, both at the volume and the formality of his name on the tongue of the stranger. It was a long time since he had been addressed as such. It didn't sound right. 

 

Stiles peered over from the glass booth he was standing in and looked across the courtroom to find his father, still on crutches but otherwise fine, staring back at him sorrowfully. Stiles felt guilty, not just because he had taken a random man, Timothy Finley’s, life. But because he’d probably taken an extra ten years off of his father’s too.

 

“It is understood and appreciated,” the judge continued, and Stiles reverted his eyes towards her. Even under her stern expression he could see that she regretted giving the sentence that she was about to give, “that you thought you were defending your father and an officer of the law, it has been proven that the defendant did not shoot with intent to kill, nor was the action pre-empted.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “However evidence in the form of web-cam footage found on the victim's laptop proves that the weapon used was unwillingly taken from an armed officer.”

 

Stiles couldn’t bear to look at his father’s guilt-ridden face so just kept his eyes ahead.

 

“The assailant’s weapon was found to be a low-velocity bb gun, which at the distance fired was unlikely to be used with intent to kill or cause serious bodily harm. This with the additional knowledge of an officer of the law being present means the claim of self-defence cannot be upheld fully." The judge hesitated for a split moment, and Stiles knew what was coming- "It is therefore my regret to sentence you as guilty.” She cleared her throat again, her eyes flickering to the Sheriff before landing back on Stiles “And charge you with 3 years for involuntary manslaughter, eligible for parole in 1.”

 

The judge’s gavel hit the desk, and Stiles wanted to laugh because he had seen that happen and heard the echoing sound in movies all the time but never dreamed that he would hear it like this, for this reason. Barely a second passed before people began standing up around him, the jury looking around, avoiding his eyes as a guard placed his hand on Stiles’s shoulder and lead him away. Stiles managed one last glance at his father who looked like he wanted to say something, to shout something and Stiles knew exactly how he felt. He wanted to scream for his dad. He wanted to sob, to crawl on the floor toward his father’s arms. He wanted to feel safe, just one last time, but it was too late. A short whine escaped his throat as the metal bars slid closed behind him and he was being shuffled down a long corridor.

 

\---

 

Beacon Hill’s is a small town with a small population and low crime rate. This meant the single holding cell in the courthouse for prisoners waiting to be transported to the state prison 45 miles away got used 30 times a year, at most. So Stiles was shocked when he was led into the cell and a young boy was already there. It was rare for anyone to be sentenced in Beacon Hills, much less two people on the same day. Stiles felt a little special for being part of such a rarity.

 

The boy was sitting on the single bed at the back of the cell, his knees under his chin, when the grate was opened and Stiles was marched in. He wore a dull grey suit that was far too broad on the shoulders for him and his dark, curly hair was dishevelled.

 

One Guard unlocked Stiles's cuffs and stepped out of the cell, closing the bars and locking them. Stiles massaged his wrists, they’d been in cuffs for the entirety of the court process and Stiles knows they’ll leave a mark for at least a week.

 

Stiled peered around the room, not sure what to do with himself.

 

“Uh hi, I’m Stiles,” he licked his lips, can’t help but feel sorry for the young boy, who looks so frightened, even though, for all Stiles knew he could be an axe murderer “this is a bit different from my usual sleepovers. Normally there‘s popcorn and videogames. ” That was so lame it couldn’t even be called a joke, Stiles cussed under his breath. That made the young boy look at him, blue eyes wide, like Elijah Wood wide, bottom lip between his teeth.

 

“I’ve never had a sleepover before,” he whispered, and there was something so young and innocent about him, Stiles wasn’t even sure this kid was eligible for jail, young and innocent surely wasn’t in the prison criteria.

 

“Isaac.” The boy murmured after a pause, “My names Isaac.” The faint ghost of a smile seemed to waver on his lips, but then a sound from outside, probably one of the doors closing, made him flinch and his eyes returned to their wide-eyed state.

 

Stiles cautiously sat on the bed, petting at the coarse sheets and grimacing, did they really expect him to sleep on this? For him and Isaac to sleep on this? Was there even room for two people?

 

They just sat there in silence for an hour or so, Stiles just pondering numbly all the horrific scenarios that could happen to him in prison, he’d seen enough shows and movies to imagine some pretty graphic scenes.

 

Stiles shifted slightly, he didn’t know how Isaac could stay so still, he hadn’t moved since Stiles had entered the cell. Stiles had started getting all types of cramps after just 10 minutes, and at that moment he really needed to pee.

 

He glanced at the small metal toilet in the corner of the cell, contemplating having to pee in front of another person, it wasn’t that different to using a urinal, right? But did he warn Isaac that he was going to pee, or did he just do it? He opened his mouth about to announce his intentions and then decided to opt for the latter, hopping up and grimacing at Isaac before scooting over to the toilet and unzipping his pants.

 

He sighed in relief as he zipped his pants up and automatically went to walk out of the room, before remembering that he wasn’t in a bathroom, that he couldn’t leave. Damn, this was going to be a long up-to-three years, and he wasn’t even in the prison yet.

 

Just as he was about to turn around and walk back to the bed the hatch at the bottom of the door slid open and two bundles of clothes were shoved through, presumably for them to sleep in. Stiles had slept in a suit once, after his mother’s funeral, when he had fallen asleep crying, and it was not comfortable. Stiles picked up the bundles and walked over to the bed.

 

“Uh, I think we’re, they’re the same size.” He told Isaac looking at the light grey sweatpants and sweatshirts in his arms. He threw one next to Isaac and then hesitated before starting to undress. The clothes were surprisingly comfy, he don’t know why he’d expected them to be made out of the same material as the bed-sheet. Isaac just stared at his bundle like it was a dog about to attack. Stiles felt genuinely sorry for the boy. Stiles thought he was going to get a rough time in jail, even if he managed to keep being the Sheriff’s son quiet. But this _boy_ , with his doe-eyes and plump lips, he was going to get eaten alive.

 

“So uh” Stiles began, because the question was eating him alive, “How old are you?” Isaac looked up from his corner and chewed his already-raw lip before replying,

 

“Seventeen… last Wednesday.” Stiles sighed a bit at that, relieved for the boy.

 

“Oh, so you’re only going to Juvie, that’s good.” he smiled reassuringly, but Isaac kept chewing on his lip.

 

“No.”

 

“Huh? No?” Stiles frowned.

 

“I… I um,” Isaac paused and Stiles thought he saw his chin crumple for a second, “they tried me as an adult, to set an example.”

 

Stiles refrained from blowing out a breath of shock, what this kid did must have been bad for them to use him as an example.

 

“I didn’t do it.” Was all Isaac said, his jaw firm and face so sure that Stiles believed him without even knowing what it was that Isaac supposedly didn’t do. Isaac looked up at Stiles again and seemed to sense the curiosity.

 

“I just didn’t have a lawyer… a good one. I didn’t have money because…” He looked frustrated and confused as if he wasn’t sure if he should divulge this information. “My dad. They think… they think I murdered him.”

 

“But you didn’t.” Stiles said, his voice steady, he wanted to let this kid know that he, Stiles, believed him. A small smile flickered across Isaac’s lips.

 

“I didn’t.” he confirmed.

 

“You should change, What is it? Midnight?” Stiles said, “Trust me, I’ve slept in a suit and it ain’t no picnic… wait, I totally double negatived that… ain‘t not no picnic.”

 

Stiles cleared his throat as he shifted down into the bed and attempted to get comfy on the mattress that might as well have been a strip of cardboard for all the comfort it gave. He closed his eyes, giving the younger boy some privacy; he was a minor after all. He heard Isaac move and heard him change, he shifted again to get comfy and yelped when a spring from the piece-of-crap mattress poked him in the hip, his eyes flew open in shock.

 

That’s when he saw Isaac, in the moonlight glowing through the barred windows in strips, his body was covered in welts, purple and yellow on his back in… stripes? Stiles thought it was the moonlight for a moment but then he realised with a start, those were lines, as though from a whip or belt.

 

Isaac was frozen in his position, sweater half over his head, as though if he didn’t move Stiles wouldn’t be able to see him, to see his bruises and scars. And now Stiles understood why he would have had motive to kill his father, yet he still believed this boy’s innocence.

 

He made a silent promise to himself to keep an eye on the boy, the help him if he could. But he wasn’t sure what he could do, he wasn’t the most muscled guy, he could run, but what good was that in a prison where the whole point was to be kept in enclosed spaces? Now he really wished he hadn’t quit karate class after only two weeks, some kung-fu prowess would really give him an advantage in prison.

 

“Top to tail?” Stiles asked Isaac who was still frozen, because he didn’t really know what else to say to the boy “Though, please warn a guy if you have smelly feet.”

 

Isaac finished pulling his sweater on and then turned to smile tentatively at Stiles before creeping into the bed. They only had one pillow so Stiles let Isaac have it and folded up his suit to use himself.

 

“Are you innocent too?” Isaac asked into the silence, voice small.

 

“No,” Stiles said, and could feel Isaac tense, “But it was an accident… kind of self defence. I was protecting my dad.” He paused suddenly, unsure if the dad topic was a no-go but Isaac had relaxed by then and didn’t tense up again.

 

“Must be nice,” Isaac whispered into the silence, and Stiles was confused until Isaac continued “To you know… love him that much, that you’d do that.” That confession broke Stiles’s heart, Stiles couldn’t imagine life without his dad, and to think that this kid hadn’t had that love in his life, just fucking broke him. He shut his eyes before they started to well up.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound too choked “Night.”

 

“Night.” Came the reply.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was something about his face, that tensing stubbled jaw, those flaring nostrils, and that dark glare under his thick, furrowed brow that just screamed danger. Especially when the glare was fixated on Stiles._

 

　

Stiles swallowed as doors of the transport van opened and revealed the prison looming over them. This was it, there was no escape, they were joining the big boys. Across the yard Stiles could see another vehicle, a bus, filled with prisoners but they were separated by a fence, seeming to be allocated to another block.

　

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Isaac as he got out of the van, struggling with his hands and ankles in chains. Isaac’s eyes were even bigger, like a bush-baby’s, if that were even possible. If it wasn’t such a dire situation perhaps Stiles would have laughed.

　

The process was humiliating. Stiles hated being naked, let alone next to and equally nude Isaac and with a burly security guy prodding him, telling him to bend over and cough. Jesus, this was not how he’d imagined the first time he’d be fully naked in front of someone to be. But he knew it was harder for the younger boy, his marks being so exposed, so other than a few snarky remarks to the guy shining a torch up his ass, he didn’t complain.

　

Stiles and Isaac had redressed, back into identical grey sweatshirts, but this time with numbers, their prison ID numbers, across their backs. Stiles was 23443, Isaac was 23442. They were ushered into another room where a young but burly guard was waiting for them.

　

“I’m officer Boyd. And-“

　

“I’m officer Erica.” A purr from behind them made Isaac jump. Stiles whirled around to see a pretty blonde woman smile at him and Isaac.

　

“Yes,” Boyd acknowledged, obviously affronted, but Erica just tilted her head and smiled at him. Stiles raised an eyebrow at the obvious sexual tension in the room, or at least tried to… he never got a hang of the one-brow thing.

　

“As I was saying,” Officer Boyd continued looking back at Isaac and Stiles “You have both been assigned cells in the D block, Lahey your in Cell 8B, Stilinski 10A.” Stiles’s heart plummeted, he was hoping to be cell mates with Isaac, at least he knew this one wasn’t a murderer… or rapist. “Sergeant Finstock is the warden, show him respect. Officer Harris is the commanding officer. You are to wake at 6am everyday, Meals are at 7, 1 and 6. If you need medical assistance ask to be taken to the hospital wing. Yard time will be allowed based on your behaviour, as will gym and visiting facilities, these are a privilege not a right. Questions?”

　

Boyd was met with silence, he nodded and then turned to open the gate and Stiles felt like he should have said something like ‘welcome to hell’ or played the Jaws theme or _something_ because hell, this was a pretty dramatic moment in Stiles’s life and it deserved some kind of film effect. And then it hit Stiles, he may never watch a film again… _shit_.

　

They were lead to Isaac’s cell first, the bars opened and Stiles could see a young man with dark hair lounging on the top bunk staring at them. There was something really fucking creepy about the way he stared and Isaac obviously noticed too because he whimpered when Boyd nudged him into the cell. He could see the sympathetic look in the female officer’s eyes as the bars slid closed, and Stiles got the disturbing feeling that she knew she was sending him to his doom. Stiles kept his eyes on Isaac for as long as he could whilst being ushered away wanting the boy to turn around so Stiles could smile reassuringly at him, but Isaac stayed frozen with his back the bars.

　

Stiles kept his eyes ahead, not peering into the cells as he walked past them despite the temptation and the feel of everyone’s eyes on him, and probably Erica judging by the catcalls. He finally looked around when they reached his cell, he could see someone sitting on the top bunk of his cell, but couldn’t make out more than bare feet.

　

He glanced to the cell opposite the one that would be his, and saw two guys who looked around Stiles’s age. They were both lying on the bottom bunk, heads together talking hurriedly. They glanced up a number of times but seemed more interested in the guards than Stiles. One of them, the smaller of the two, paused to give him a glare.

　

The bars to Stiles’s new cell screeched open and Stiles quickly stepped inside before he could be shoved in. Stiles shuffled from one foot to the other as the bars closed, trapping him… again.

　

He put his hands through the bars so Erica could un-cuff him before her and Boyd left him.

　

Stiles faltered, not knowing what to do with himself. It was starting to become a regular occurrence. He didn’t understand why he felt so awkward instead of just plain scared.

　

“Uh, I assume the bottom bunk is mine?” He asked the shadowed figure above him. Silence. Well that was rude, and seriously did this guy not have a face or something? All Stiles could see right now were sweatpants and a hand holding the corner of a book. How could he even read in the shadows? Did he have super-vision?

　

Stiles sat on his bed and tried not to think about what his father was doing, he instead tried to imagine what his new cellmate’s face looked like. Maybe it was horribly scarred, or he only had one eye, or a mohawk. His mind then wondered to poor little Isaac. He tried straining his ears to try and listen but he was too far down the corridor, too far away. All he could really hear were whispers coming from the two boys opposite him.

　

He scooted back into the shadow of his bunk, so that he could watch them both without them being able to see him. Both boys were ripped, they obviously used the gym. The smaller, more wiry of the two, looked like a distorted D&G model, he had perfect bone structure, but his cheeks were slightly too hollow, his full lips were cracked and blue and his spotless skin had a dull pallor. The broader guy, tanned and dark-haired with dark circles under his eyes matching his cellmate, was fiddling with the thin T-shirt on his chest as though the material irritated his skin. Smack-heads, Stiles thought with a sigh, just his luck, this meant either security was slack or the guards were corrupt.

　

Stiles shifted on the bed again, this was going to get really boring. A loud buzz, which seemed to indicate something blared making Stiles jump. He saw the two junkies stand, D&G throwing a T-shirt on, and wait by their bars so guessed he was supposed to do the same.

　

Just as he moved to get up he heard the rungs about his head squeak ever so slightly and then suddenly this great big guy loomed in front of him.

　

“Fuck.“ Stiles gasped, he didn’t know how the guy had leapt down so quickly and _silently._

　

Stiles blinked and _man_ if he thought the other two guys were ripped this guy was a freaking _Adonis_ he must spend all his time in the gym. It wasn’t just his body in that grey wife beater that intimidated Stiles though, even though the way he flexed his _fucking huge_ biceps in an obscene stretch made Stiles light-headed with angst. There was something about his face, that tensing  stubbled jaw, those flaring nostrils, and that dark glare under his thick, furrowed brow that just screamed danger. Especially when the glare was fixated on Stiles.

　

Stiles didn’t know what to do. He went to stand up off the bed, but the guy didn’t move so Stiles just bounced off his chest (and  _ouch,_ did that guy have any fat at all?) and flailed his arms before landing back on the bed with a thump.

　

“Uh..“ Stiles’s heart started to hammer, the guy was leaning ever so slightly, looming over him and Stiles hurriedly scrambled back and over the bed, getting off at the Adonis-free foot of the bed and standing in front of the bars. The guy stood behind him, far too close for Stiles’s comfort. He could feel his breathing on his neck, slightly ragged. Stiles wanted to protest, but then again he was going to end up shitting in front of this guy, personal space doesn’t really exist in jail.

　

Crap, Stiles thought suddenly, how was he going to… pleasure himself? With this guy sleeping above him. Was he going to have to listen to Adonis jerk off too? Stiles felt a shiver run down from his spine to his crotch at the thought. Damn, he needed to stop thinking about masturbation, pronto.

　

Stiles gestured (actually, more like spasmed) for Adonis to overtake him when the bars opened, he brushed past him silently and Stiles made sure he stood at least a metre behind him whilst all the prisoners filed into the dining hall. Stiles felt like he was back in school, lining up for fucking meals, he just hoped they didn’t taste as bad.

　

Once he’d gotten his tray Stiles looked around for a table. There were burly men everywhere and Stiles didn’t really know what to do with himself, he sat at an empty area on the end of a very long table and licked his lips, glancing around for Isaac. He spotted him in the food line, next to the creepy cellmate who seemed to be standing far too close for Isaac’s comfort, judging by his tense shoulders. Stiles watched as he was steered by creepy cellmate guy to a table filled with a number of menacing guys and… an old man?

　

“Gerard Argent.” A voice said next to him and Stiles jumped a mile, his hand catching his fork and splattering what could only be described as peatatoes across the table.

　

“Sorry.” The voice said as Stiles turned to look at a young, hispanic guy, about his age, with a cute lop-sided jaw. The guy flicked his floppy hair out of his eyes, “I’m Scott. Cell 8A.”

　

“Stiles.” He replied with a grin, because hey, better to make friends than enemies, right? “So who are they?”

　

“Them?” Scott nodded toward the table, and climbed into the seat next to Stiles “Hah, the Argents. You don’t want to mess with them, they kind of run the block. You know the bane ring and all.” His voice was hushed.

　

“Bane?” Stiles asked and was immediately shushed by Scott, who looked around frantically before finding it seemingly all clear and continuing.

　

“What?! Are you crazy, don’t say that so loud. Yeah, bane… crack, smack, shooter-upper, whatever you want to call it, here it’s called bane.”

　

“Ah.” Stiles nodded understanding. Scott licked his lips and glanced back over to the table.

　

“Gerard, the oldie, he’s the leader of them obviously, as he’s an Argent. And that one next to him,” he nodded at a middle aged man to Gerard’s right “Chris, his son. Second in command if anything happens to daddy dearest, not that anything would, you would be dead before you got near.”

　

“And what about him?” Stiles nodded to creepy guy who was now stroking the nape of Isaac’s neck. Seriously, could that guy get more… _creepy_?

　

“Oh, Matt.” Scott scrunched up his nose and visibly shuddered “Yeah he is their little errand boy, bottom of their food chain, but god, he is creepy. Serial Killer, killed a high school swim-team one by one. Fits right in with the Argents though. I don’t know who that poor sod with him is though, I saw him come in with you.”

　

“Isaac.” Stiles said with a sigh, “He’s just a little kid.”

　

“Little kid? He looks at least six foot two.”

　

“He’s a minor. He shouldn’t be in here, especially not in a cell with that Matt guy.” Stiles clenched his jaw.

　

“Who did you get celled with?” Scott asks cheerfully, moving the conversation on and shovelling up his peatatoes enthusiastically. Stiles frowned at the sudden change in topic and then shrugged.

　

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly, “He isn’t much of a talker.” Stiles looked around the hall and his eyes sought out his mystery cellmate, brooding in the corner, everyone giving him a wide birth. Figures.

　

“Hale?!” Scott gasped as his gaze followed Stiles’s. “You got Derek Hale?! Oh boy, man, good luck with that buddy, that guy is a psycho!” His voice had become worryingly high pitched. Stiles’s heart started thumping in his chest, and he swore it actually skipped a beat when Hale looked up at them, his eyes searing into Stiles’s who quickly dropped his head. His beef (or was it pork?) slop suddenly looked very interesting.

　

“He’s bad?” Stiles wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

　

“Only if burning down your childhood home with your family inside it, kids included, and then sadistically hunting down your girlfriend and killing her happens to be bad.” Scott muttered hurriedly, obviously feeling Derek’s eyes on them.

　

Fuck, Stiles thought. _Fuck._

　

Scott was very friendly. Throughout the rest of the meal Stiles found out that Scott was nineteen, like Stiles, and there for armed robbery, blame falling into the wrong crowd at a young age he’d said.

　

According to Scott, the two ‘baners’ in the cell opposite Stiles were also nineteen. Called Jackson and Danny, both in for possession, and not friendly guys. Stiles wasn’t surprised, aside from Scott and innocent little Isaac, no-one here seemed to be friend material.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, unbeta'd. Mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Let me know if you are enjoying it :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for all the lovely comments, I honestly wasn't expecting so many people to read and enjoy it! 
> 
> and for those asking about it being human AU.... heh heh heh that is the question.

　

Returning to his cell, Derek (Stiles still thought Adonis suited him better, Derek sounds like someone deserved of pimples and glasses) already in his shadowed spot on his bed, Stiles vowed to find a way to help Isaac.

　

He pressed his forehead against the bars until it hurt and tried to see how far down the corridor he could see. Not far, barely into the cells either side of Danny and Jackson, who were entangled together on the bottom bunk reading a comic. 

　

Stiles huffed, well at least living opposite two guys who could be Armani models and a very scary Greek god weren’t bad on the eyes. If Derek did decide to kill him in his sleep at least the final thing he’d see would be aesthetically pleasing. 

　

He definitely was going to have a few sleepless nights here... Maybe wet ones too.

　

He turns back to look in his cell. At the small metal toilet and sink opposite the bunk, and the two shelves at the foot of their bunk. His empty. He couldn’t see Derek’s shelf very well, bar from the head of two books. He stepped over to the small barred window, the only source of light. The glass was murky, so he pulled his sweater sleeve over his fist and twisted it through the bars. The squeaking he made as he cleaned a circle of the glass issued a huff from Derek.

　

“S-sorry.” Stiles stammered, retracting his hand so quickly it jarred in the bars. “Fuck, ouch! Sorry!” He chanced a glance at the older (assumedly) man and found that he was looking at him, eyebrow raised.

　

“You know I never got a hang of that whole eyebrow thing, does it come naturally? Or is it a skill that can be learned?” Stiles babbles, because hell, he can’t spend his whole incarceration in silence, its just not possible. If talking means a higher risk of being smothered with a pillow, so be it. “I’m Stiles. Have a already said that? Stiles Stilinski.” The guy just continued to glare and Stiles’s shoulders slumped. It looks like he’s going to have to start talking to himself for entertainment, or maybe make a puppet out of a sock or-

　

“Stiles… _Stilinski_?” Derek tilted his head, and Stiles was marginally surprised, he expected this rough killer-guy to have a deep Dean Winchesteresque voice, but it was actually rather… normal.

　

“Well, no. Stiles is a nickname, derived from the surname. My legitimate first name is too embarrassing to even… when they read it out in the court, I just about died of embarrassment. But at least no-one I know, knows it back home.”

　

“They probably published it in the paper.” Derek looked pointedly at Stiles.

　

“Fuck.” Stiles hissed. Derek just raised his eyebrow, mocking Stiles, he was sure, and then turned back to his book. Well that’s that lovely conversation over.

 

The bastard didn’t even introduce himself, Stiles thought sitting on his bunk How rude.

　

\---

　　

Stiles guesses about two hours must have passed when the buzzer rang again.

　

Relief flooded Stiles because he was not the kind of person who liked to be cooped up, and he was certain his pacing the floor relentlessly was not helping to prolong his life judging by the harsh stares Derek Hale kept giving him from his nest in the bunk.

　

Apparently, this buzzer meant yard time. Stiles could have danced around the concrete square with joy, if not for, you know, the fear of getting stabbed. He could walk in an open space! Not to mention escape Derek’s murderous eyes Killing children? Really? His own kin too. Could he not switch with Isaac? Stiles was sure Derek and Matt should get along. They had a lot of mass-murderish stuff in common.

　

The yard was shabby and smelled like piss, but Stiles didn’t care, he was sure he would get used to the constant smell of piss in a week or two. Farmers do it. He scanned the yard for Isaac, but he wasn’t there.

　

He found Scott pottering around the yard with a taller, skinny guy.

　

“Stiles! Hi!“ Scott sounded cheerful as ever. “This is my cellmate, Mel.”

　

“Hey dude.” Mel smiled at Stiles. He seemed friendly enough, but he had the baner look, his eyes would glaze over every now and again, and his responses were a fraction slow. Stiles knew this meant he had been abusing for a long time.

　

“Hi.” Stiles wasn’t going to judge, hell he didn’t think he had the right anymore.

　

“You smoke?” Scott asked as Mel pulled out a pack of Melbournes. Stiles shook his head as Scott took a cigarette from the packet. “Lucky bro, you do not know the lengths we have to go to for inevitable lung disease.” Stiles laughed.

　

“I can’t wait to go to a shop to buy smokes.” Mel pondered, gazing into the flame of the match he just used to light up their cigarettes. Stiles fought the urge to frown at him, because any friend of Scott’s was a friend of his, no matter how strange they acted.

 

“Oh yeah,” Scott chirped after a long drag. “Mel is up for parole next week. Hence the celebratory smoke.”

　

“That’s great.” Stiles smiled, trying not to cough. 

　

Scott nodded enthusiastically and started telling Stiles about a letter he’d received from his mum, when there was a loud screech. Stiles cupped his hands over his ears but nobody else seemed to flinch.

　

‘Visitor call. If your ID is called line up in the blue area.’

　

The intercom crackled and Stiles noticed how a lot of the conversations died down to listen to the names.

　

‘21332, 21998, 22334, 22564, 22565, 22932, 23117, 23443.’

　

The intercom crackled again and then died to a rumble of protests from some disgruntled prisoners who‘s names were not called. Stiles looked around for the blue area and smiled thanks at Scott when he pointed him to one of the gates that had faded blue spray paint on the frame. Stiles joined the line and noticed the smaller baner, Jackson, in front of him, 23117 clear on his jumper.

　

\---

　

He knew who his visitor was going to be before he got there but he still felt like Christmas had come early. His dad smiled when he approached the table and reached out to squeeze Stiles’s hand, his palm was sweaty.

　

“Hey son.” He breathed, voice solemn as he grasped Stiles’s hand in his own. 

　

“Aw Pa,” Stiles said and he could feel his voice contracting in fake cheer, “I’m having a swell time and you have to come in here and bum me out with that tone!” Stiles didn’t know why but since his sentence his humour just didn’t come out right anymore. He squeezed the hand in his and his father still gave a small smile in response.

　

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten beat up yet with your mouth.” The sheriff said, attempting a lame joke himself.

　

“Ah you see, prison has seemed to keep a lid on my motor mouth. Should have sent me sooner, it’s a cure!” his father’s face dropped at that. Shit, Stiles thought, his attempt at a light-heartedness just made his father sadder. He really had lost his mojo.

　

“Stiles…” The Sheriff started, giving him a pitying look.

　

“No dad.” Stiles stopped him, “Honestly, I’m okay. I’ve made a friend, Scott. And guess what, he didn’t kill or rape anyone!” his father looked visibly sated at that.

　

“I’m not going to lie, that’s a relief. My biggest worry was that they’d room you with someone dangerous. But this Scott, he sounds like a good cellmate.”

　

“Uh-” Stiles was about to correct his father, but the deepened worry lines on his father’s face made him stop. “Yup, good friend to have Scott.”

　

He felt guilty for lying of course but what was he supposed to say _oh no dad, I’m actually cell mates with a mass murderer who I’m pretty sure is going to kill me in my sleep tonight._ No, if he had already broken the ‘thou shall not kill’ commandment, what  would a little white lie to protect his father’s sanity matter?

　

Stiles looked around whilst his dad babbled on about happenings in the station. He noticed Jackson talking with a pretty, red-headed woman. No, a _beautiful, strawberry-blonde_ woman. They were holding hands and she was stroking the circles under his eyes with a manicured finger and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear as he kissed the palm of her hand. He noticed a wedding ring on her finger, they were married. It made Stiles both jealous and relived that he didn’t have someone like that on the outside, someone willing to give up their life to wait for him.

　

\---

　

Visiting hours was a lie, it wasn’t even an hour. After only forty minutes Stiles was ushered back into his cell, alone.

　

He Hurriedly used the toilet before the other prisoners, before Derek, got back from the yard. It was still awkward, he could see Jackson in his peripheral vision.

　

He was just washing his hands when he was suddenly covered in shadow, he jumped and turned around to see Derek behind him. Jesus, was this dude a fucking ninja or something? 

　

“Heeeey, dude.” Stiles said, wiping his hands on his sweatpants and leaning back on the sink, trying to look casual and failing when his hand slipped on the wetness.

　

Derek didn’t respond. He just looked at Stiles like he was pondering something, before turning around. He lifted himself onto his bunk, arms rippling and… yep, ass clenching with the single move. Stiles gaped at the man’s stealth at getting into the fucking bed, Stiles wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get up even with the help of the bottom bunk as a step, this dude must have been here forever to have mastered that.

　

Stiles slid into his bottom bunk with a sigh, and aw shit. He had to pee again.

 

\---

 

At night is when the screams started.

　

A couple of inmates shouting at guards, rattling their bars, threatening other inmates, the echo of the corridor making their voices incoherent and Stiles wondered whether that was a good thing or not.

　

The moonlight from his barred window cast a soft beam of light across his cell, where Derek was silently sleeping. He looked so much less intimidating asleep. Not glaring suited him, Stiles thought. He looked peaceful, breathing in deeply as though smelling oranges and vanilla instead of the piss-stenched cells.

　

Fighting the urge to reach out and stroke the course stubbled jaw before him, because Stiles wasn’t _that_ stupid, he looked across the corridor into Jackson and Danny’s cell where- Stiles blinked at the pair of hands on the bars, covered by another pair. Were they _fucking_?

　

Stiles’s ears pricked and he could hear faint moans. _Yes, they were fucking!_ Stiles wanted to snort in incredulity but the fear of waking Derek stopped the noise in his throat. How could Jackson even do that? he was _married!_ And not just to anyone, but to that beautiful strawberry-blonde, who was waiting for him! He mentally spluttered, yes Danny was hot and if Jackson was single he wouldn’t blame him… but his wife!

　

Stiles was still blundering over how Jackson could cheat on his wife when he heard a pained scream. A scream that could be heard echoing across the entire block, that even caused Derek to wake and fall out of his bunk landing on his feet in crouched position. This usually would impress Stiles, but not now, because he knew who had screamed.

　

“Isaac.” He whispered, and then “ISAAAAC!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But? There’s a but? Tell me! I love buts!” Stiles almost shouted, not caring about the two burly men nearby that were suddenly leering over him, obviously misunderstanding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but fear not the next one shall be up later today!

  
Stiles hadn’t slept at all that night, his throat was raw from calling for the guards for over an hour, his screams mingling with Isaac’s, but nobody had come.

  
He knew he’d probably kept Derek up, tossing and turning all night. Judging by the circles under Derek’s eyes the assumption was right, but Derek didn’t glare at him when he hopped down from his bunk and straddled the toilet, palm on the opposite wall. Stiles averted his eyes.

 

He stared into Danny and Jackson’s cell, as had started to become habit. Stiles couldn’t tell if he had kept them up too, their darkly circled eyes were the same.

 

When he stood up to piss after Derek he saw his reflection in the small murky mirror drilled into the wall above the sink and almost startled. He looked wild, half mad. His hair was mussed from running his fingers through it and his eyes were wide and his lips were raw, cracked and bleeding from chewing on them. He could be mistaken for a baner.

 

He looked out for Isaac at breakfast but there was no sign of him. He spotted Scott and hurried over to sit with him.

 

“Scott! Where’s Isaac? What happened? Is he okay?” Stiles blundered. Scott just gulped. Mel, who was sat with them winced, as if remembering.

 

“It wasn’t pretty dude,” Scott looked unsure how much to tell him, and glanced at Mel knowingly, “It happens though, perhaps not as brutally as last night’s… God, Matt’s a creep. But it happens.” He bit his lip looking down at his oatmeal and pushing it around the bowl, not even attempting to eat it. Mel muttered something incoherent and then stood up, his food also untouched and left. Stiles stared after him confused before Scott whispered in his ear.

 

“Matt’s not supposed to have a cell mate after Mel,” Stiles turned, shocked.

 

“Mel used to be Matt’s cellmate?” he squeaked. Scott nodded.

 

“He was the one that got Mel hooked… on bane.” 

 

“So why is Isaac there?” Stiles’s voice started to rise appalled, “He should he in a different cell!”

 

“The prison is overcrowded, there is nowhere else, maybe next week after Mel leaves he could req-” Stiles cut Scott off,

 

“Yes!” He started to get excited at the possibility of actually getting somewhere with this, one night with Matt may not have been long but it was far too long for Isaac, “How do I speak to the warden?!”

 

“Uh,” Scott paused, “You can ask for a formal request but that can take a while... weeks sometimes.”

 

“Shit.” Stiles muttered.

 

“But…”

 

“But? There’s a but? Tell me! I love buts!” Stiles almost shouted, not caring about the two burly men nearby that suddenly turned around, obviously misunderstanding.

 

“You could, I mean I wouldn’t recommend it but…” Stiles flapped his hand encouraging Scott, “if you got into trouble, on the… Its.” Scott sighed, frowning in concentration, Stiles could almost see the cogs whirring in his brain, “You couldn’t start it, ‘cause you’d get sent to the hole and… no that. I don’t know dude!” Scott sounded exasperated from trying to figure this puzzle out.

 

“So,” Stiles tried to wrap his head around Scott’s rambling “If someone else started it, hit me? Like say… Matt? I wouldn‘t mind giving him a piece of my mind.”

 

“Dude, that’s.. you’re crazy.” Scott’s mouth formed a little ’o’, and Stiles smiled. He knew his provoking skills would come in handy sometime in his life.

 

Stiles wasn’t hungry anymore, he pushed his tray away and didn’t even bother protesting when one of the burly guys reached over and grabbed it for himself. He just stared at the back of Matt’s head as if glaring at him would reduce him into ash. If only.

 

“Dude, I have an idea of how to see Isaac!” That caught Stiles’s attention and he turned from trying to telepathically kill Matt to look down at Scott “I can feign an asthma attack, on record I have it.” Stiles blinked.

 

“But that would only get you up.” He complained.

 

“Shit.” Scott cussed, “Sorry bro.” Stiles shook his head and sighed.

 

“Just let me know how he is.” Scott nodded a promise and got up, winked, and started wheezing before staggering over to Boyd. Stiles got up, stacking Scott’s tray under his as he watched Scott get led out by Boyd who nodded to Erica to take over, despite the numerous other guards in the hall.

 

Stiles let out a nervous huff. Right, he had to provoke Matt now. He could take a punch in the face for an innocent boy fine, but he just prayed that none of the Argent gang carried shanks to dinner.

 

“Here goes nothing,” Stiles muttered under his breath as he turned around from the tray-drop to walk towards the Argent table, and then stopped in his tracks. Matt wasn’t there. Shit.

 

Stiles dithered in his spot for a second and then, fuck it. He saw Derek Hale heading towards the tray-drop and his decision was made, after Derek placed the tray on the surface Stiles rounded against him.

 

“Heeey buddy!” Stiles‘s heart was pounding against his ribs and he could feel bile rising in his throat but he continued, “So, now we’re roomies and all, I thought he should have a proper chat. You know, bro to bro, man to man, amigo to amigo.” Stiles didn’t know were he was going with his, Derek was back to glowering at him, lips pursed, when Stiles plucked up the courage to actually touch the guy’s arm, patting it. Derek snarled in warning.

 

“Aw come on dude,” Derek went to move past Stiles and he blocked Derek‘s path again in a quick sidestep. “no need to be mean, I just wanna be friends. You look like you could use a friend big guy!” Stiles poked him in the chest and Derek let out another low warning growl. Stiles wanted to stop, god he wanted to stop but Isaac, fucking Isaac.

 

He reached out a finger and prodded Derek in one of his rock solid pecs (seriously, was the dude made from marble?). He could feel half the cafeteria’s eyes on him and scrunched his eyes, ready for the hit. Derek’s hands were on him a second later and… wait, what? He was being lifted into the air, what?

 

He opened his eyes as Derek plonked him back on the ground before removing his hands from Stiles‘s biceps. Stiles just spluttered, the guy had just moved him, picked him up like a piece of furniture and just fucking moved him aside. Derek turned and stalked out of the Hall.

 

Oh hell no. Stiles was not done here.

 

“Dude, duuuuude, come on!” He was using his whining voice that always irked his father and he could tell from the way Derek‘s shoulders were heaving up and down that Stiles was annoying him too.

 

They rounded the corner into their cell corridor when Stiles’s face came into contact with something warm and hard. Stiles huffed and then realised his face was in Derek’s back, he stepped away confused. Why had he stopped? Was he trying to knock Stiles out with the sheer power of his rock-hard back? Stiles looked up to the older guy’s face and saw his eyebrows were raised. It was nice, it showed that he actually had eyes. Blue eyes, or were they green? Stiles followed the gaze of those eyes and then, choked.

 

“Oh God, oh my God.” Stiles wanted to heave, no he wanted to pass out, because then he wouldn’t have to see… he did both.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Stiles.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Yeah buddy?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Shut up.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for the positive comments.  
> It is greatly appreciated, and really helps me keep motivated to update faster so bonus for all!

  
Stiles groaned, his head was pounding and his throat was raw.

 

He groaned again, because fuck it, his head. He slowly opened his eyes, it was bright, white and fucking bright. He tried to lick his lips but his mouth was too dry. He tilted his head to the left and saw Scott. Scott? What?

 

“Dude, you’re up!” He beamed, looking down Stiles’s bed at a bald middle-aged man with ridiculously long lashes for a dude. “How’s he looking doc?”

 

“McCall, you seem rather interested in everyone around you for someone who as just suffered an asthma attack.” The man remarked, raising his eyebrow at Scott, but Stiles could tell he was only mock-scorning him. “How are you feeling Stilinski? Any light-headedness? Nausea?”

 

“M’kay.” Stiles croaked out and gave Scott a small smile when Scott handed him a glass of water from the side table. It was luke-warm and tasted horrible but Stiles drank it anyway. He cleared his throat which felt much better after hydrating and sat up on the bed, twisting one of his arms around his back to fluff up one of the shitty hospital-ward pillows. His brain was starting to catch up with him and he thought of-

 

“Isaac?” He asked looking around the ward There was a heavy guy lying in one bed, bloody bandage over one eye, another bearded guy getting checked over by a nurse in the next bed and next to him, and a bundle curled up in hospital cot. Stiles felt his heart break, he looked so small.

 

“Lahey?” The doctor asked. Stiles looked back at the man, and his badge. Dr A Deaton.

 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “Is he okay?” Deaton let out a contemplative sigh.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss other patients.” He avoided Stiles’s gaze, and Stiles was starting to get pissed.

 

“Look, we are not patients we are prisoners. All notion of privacy was taken away the moment we had a man shine a torch up our ass.” Stiles hissed, not even caring that he was getting spittle everywhere. “Now, that boy there. Because that’s what fucking he is, a seventeen year old boy. Has been locked up with a fucking psycho as a cell-mate who has beaten up an already battered boy and put him in a fucking hospital bed. So seeing as none of your fucking guards seem to be doing there job, consider me his family and tell me if he is fucking OK.”

 

Deaton paused, nodded and cleared his throat.

 

“He has a couple of broken ribs and some… tearing. But its hard to say what was from last night and what was pre- um last night.” he licked his lips “I think at least one of the ribs was already cracked and that’s why it was broken so easily. I‘ve bandaged him up, and he should be back in the block in about a week.”

 

“Thank you.” Stiles said, and Deaton just walked away.

 

Stiles looked at Scott who was looking at Isaac’s lump with a pained expression on his face. Well its nice to know he’s not the only one who cares for the boy. Then he remembered what he’d seen and wondered if Scott knew already.

 

“Um Scott?” He paused not really knowing how to break the news of what he’d seen. “Mel…” He trailed off when Scott nodded glumly.

 

“I heard.” He swallowed, eyes turning from Isaac to Stiles, looking solemn. “I’m sorry you had to see that dude, as a newbie and all.” Stiles frowned.

 

“You make it sound like this happens all the time.” He can’t believe that Scott isn’t more shocked, more horrified, more something. He just seemed sadly resigned, but Mel was his friend, wasn’t he? He was supposed to be leaving in less than a week and then… that had happened to him. Stiles felt a wave of nausea again remembering the mutilated body hung up on the bars of his cell, sweater used to tie him there by his severed neck. Scott coughed.

 

“Well its prison dude, people get killed. And well…” He leaned in to Stiles so Deaton, who was back and checking over Stiles’s chart couldn’t hear. “That’s the Argent speciality. Stringing up… displaying their kills, making it look like an animal… you know… with all the ripped flesh and stuff.” He shuddered, “I saw my first one when I was 5 months in. Shame it was Mel, he was a nice guy… Must’ve been behind on payments.”

 

“Stilinski, awake I see.” Stiles and Scott started at the soft voice, Erica. “The warden wants to see you. He’s okay to go, right?” She looked at Deaton, who looked up from the chart and nodded.

 

“Take this one back whilst you’re at it.” He pointed his pen at Scott who scooted off his bed. Stiles got out of his cot gingerly and tested his feet, he could stand, that was good.

 

“Here,” Deaton said popping a pill into a glass of water that fizzed, “for that headache.” Stiles took it gratefully and gulped it down, before letting Erica lead him and Scott out of the ward. Scott was pawned off on Boyd at one of the gates whilst Stiles was lead through another. They reached a large, chipped oak door with a little plaque on it that read ‘WARDEN’. Stiles licked his lips as Erica knocked and then nudged him to go inside.

 

He gingerly peeked his head around the door and saw a middle aged man sitting in a leather chair behind a large oak desk that was almost as chipped as the door. Sitting across the desk on a small wooden chair was Derek. He wasn’t sure what to do then Erica shoved him inside fully and closed the door.

 

“What are you waiting for Bilinski, sit down.” The Warden gestured to a chair next to Derek. Too close for Stiles’s comfort really. Stiles thought about correcting the officer for a second, but thought better of it when it struck him he could use this meeting for his request and just sat down. His arm pressed against Derek’s, heat seeping through both their shirts, that dude was hot.

 

“Hale, stop glaring like that you look constipated.” Warden Finstock seemed unabashed by Derek’s glowers and just sighed. “Oh god, I feel like a high school teacher, I should have been a high school teacher. Bilinski, I need your statement.”

 

Stiles blinked dumbly and Finstock huffed throwing his arms in the air.

 

“What. Did. You. See.” He drew out every word as if Stiles was brain damaged.

 

“I, uh… a dead body.” He could _feel_ Derek roll his eyes beside him and Finstock looked exasperated so Stiles hurriedly continued. “I didn’t see anyone, I was kind of… unconscious.”

 

“Well that’s not true,” The warden smirked, “I heard you had time to decorate Hale’s shoes first.”

 

“Uh, yeah… sorry about that.” Stiles peered up at Derek, but he was staring ahead, face stoic, unreadable. “But I didn’t see anyone else or anything like that, but heard it’s the Argent’s speciality, right? Are they going to get in trouble for it?” Stiles bit his lip, and Finstock scoffed.

 

“In trouble? They’re in prison you idiot, they’re already in trouble. And without witnesses, which you two fuckheads are useless for by the way,” Stiles felt the tendon in Derek’s arm bulge against his own. He was clenching his fists. “ without any evidence, we can’t blame it on anyone. Now if that’s all, Eri-” Stiles cut him off mid-call.

 

“Wait!” Finstock stopped mouth still comically ajar and Derek paused from where he had begun to stand up. “About Isaac, the boy I came in with.”

 

“Doe-eyes.” Finstock nodded in understanding.

 

“Is there a way I can request his cell change, I mean, now Mel has gone there’s room right? He could move in with Scott or something or if someone else is replacing Mel, then maybe Isaac could switch with me? You can do that right?” Both Derek and Finstock were looking at him like he had grown a third head.

 

“You would switch cells with him?” It wasn’t Finstock who spoke, it was Derek, his voice was gentle again, which disturbed Stiles because, hey it doesn’t go with the whole Mr Broody persona.

 

“You want to bunk with Matt?” Finstock asked, looking like he was about to send Stiles in for psychiatric analysis.

 

“No,” Stiles said, “but better me than Isaac.” It was true, rooming with Matt was the last thing he wanted, but at least if he was in there he could resist a bit more. He wasn’t strong but he was probably stronger than Isaac, he knew he wouldn‘t let Matt make him a baner at least. Derek hadn’t killed him yet, and Stiles was far more annoying than Isaac could ever be so that had to be good right?

 

“Well I’m sure Doe-eyes will be thankful for his knight in shining armour.” Finstock said. “Its nice to know that-”

 

“I’ll go.” Derek’s voice was so dark, making Stiles think he had imagined the gentleness in his voice earlier, now this one fitted Mr Broody better. Stiles looked at Derek, eyes wide, and Derek looked just as shocked, like he didn’t know what he’d just volunteered for, or why.

 

“For fucks sake!” Finstock said. “Stop sacrificing yourselves for each other this isn’t the hunger games! Lahey can move in with McCall.” Stiles sighed relieved and wanted to hug Finstock, or Derek… he just wanted to hug someone. He settled for beaming at Finstock who just grimaced.

 

“Get the fuck out you two. ERICA!” Stiles bounced up as Derek rose in his manly, murderous kind of way.

 

The walk back to their cell was awkward to say the least, Stiles had been out cold for a few hours, and they‘d missed yard time and meals. Stiles could feel Erica eyeing them both, like she knew something that he didn’t. Derek was ignoring her, ignoring them both, shoulders hunched. It took Erica a second to open their cell, and push them inside. Stiles noticed she ‘pushed’ Derek inside by pinching his butt-cheek and making him jerk forward.

 

“Nighty night lovebirds.” She winked, shutting them in and sauntering away. Stiles made a face that could only be described as a derp in response. Lovebirds? Was she mocking them? Oh god, had he been staring at Derek’s ass whilst they were walking back? He couldn’t remember. He looked at Derek who was frowning at the space which she had been, well he obviously wasn’t impressed with her comment either.

 

Stiles squeezed past him to get to his bottom bunk. Derek tensed even more when Stiles brushed his arm, if that was even possible, did this guy just get his muscles from tensing? Wouldn’t surprise him. When Stiles turned to sit on his bed Derek was gone with just a small squeak of springs indicating he’d leapt on his bunk. Stiles watched Danny and Jackson’s moving figures in the moonlight for a while. Fucking again. Surprise.

 

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles said after a while. He was met with silence. “Um, thanks, for… you know.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Yeah buddy?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Well, Stiles wasn’t about to argue with a psychopath so he closed his eyes and did as he was told.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite surprised so many of you expected it to be Matt's body!  
> Oh no, he hasn't quite finished his part in this yet ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Did you ever think that people may have legitimate motive for murder? You don’t know my story. You don’t get to judge me. Back off.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey, its another update! :D

Isaac didn’t leave the ward for a week, just like Deaton said.

 

Stiles was beginning to get used to the routine. Wake up. Breakfast. Cell. Lunch. Cell. Yard time/Privileges. Dinner. Cell.

 

On the third day that week Stiles had had to tell his father to stop visiting him everyday because it wasn’t fair to make his father drive here all the time when he had double shifts in the station on top of that. The Sheriff protested but finally gave in agreeing to only visit once a week.

 

Derek had spoken to him a total of three times since the ‘nighty night lovebirds’ incident. Stiles had spoken to Derek plenty of course, but a reply was normally in the form of an intense stare or what Stiles could only describe as a bitchface.

 

The first time Derek had spoken was to tell him to ‘move away from the sink’ when he wanted to brush his teeth. The second was to tell him to ‘watch out’ when he was doing pull ups on the bars of the cell. He growled at Stiles ogling him, but come on! Stiles hadn’t jacked off in forever and the guy was doing that in front of him? Shirtless. Its not like he could escape.

 

Their close proximity was starting to frustrate Stiles, particularly with his growing attraction towards the dude (seriously, this must be related to Stockholm syndrome because there was no way he could be fully sane and attracted to a mass murderer), and Derek wasn’t helping with his leaning over Stiles and breathing down his neck every time they lined up to leave the cell, or he waited for Stiles to finish brushing his teeth so he could use the sink, or to pee so he could use the toilet.

 

The third time Derek spoke to him was the morning of Isaac’s discharge from the ward. The alarm had just woken them up and as usual, by the time Stiles had sat up, all bleary-eyed, Derek was already looming in front of him, toothbrush in mouth.

 

He spat out the toothpaste and paused before turning and leaning over Stiles, putting his face near Stiles’s neck and sniffing, yes sniffing.

 

“You really need a shower.” He said. Stiles groaned, partly because of the minty breath tickling his neck but also because he had been avoiding the showers since he’d entered here. He had seen the movies, he knew what happened if you dropped the soap. But Derek was right, Stiles stank. Like, really stank. Inmates were allowed to shower in the allocated breakfast and dinner time.

 

“I will.” Stiles said and wanted to whine when Derek pulled away from him leaving his neck cold, but couldn’t really blame him given his current odour.

 

“This morning. Before breakfast.” Derek commanded.

 

“Okay okay.” Stiles huffed, agreeing even though it meant that he’d be at the end of the breakfast line so he would be eating cold oatmeal that morning.

 

The breakfast buzzer rang and Stiles hopped over to the door, Derek taking his usual position behind him. Stiles filed down with the other prisoners turning left towards the showers whilst the majority turned right towards the cafeteria.

 

There were only three other men in the showers, and one guard who’s eyes were fixed firmly ahead. He turned around and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Derek, still behind him.

 

“Jesus Christ!” He squeaked clutching his heart. “Could you like try to make some noise when you move?”

 

“Just wash, Stiles.” Derek growled, peeling off his own shirt. Stiles averted his eyes from Derek’s nipples and picked up a towel from the dispatch chute by the guard before standing next to one of the benches. He clumsily began removing his clothes, averting his eyes when Derek walked to the stop next to him and nonchalantly continued stripping down. If Stiles wasn’t already shitting himself at the prospect of getting naked in front of people, being in the nude with this guy? his gawky body next to that of a freaking Olympian? No thanks. There was a reason he changed under his covers in their cell.

 

He cupped a hand over his crotch in an attempt to maintain some dignity, and began to stroll over to the shower but slipped on the tiles. He gracelessly flailed backwards, his hand reaching to steady himself on something solid. Unfortunately that thing was Derek, and uber-unfortunately it turned out to be the only soft part of Derek’s body. He had just touched Derek‘s ass.

 

“Eek, Sorry!” Stiles squeaked, retracting his hand like he’d been burnt. “Uh, Slippy floor.”

 

He chuckled nervously, and turned to walk over to a shower head very slowly so he wouldn’t slip again. He spent the next ten minutes facing the wall and trying not to peek over at his cell mate two shower heads over from him. Fuck, it was a good job these showers were freaking freezing.

 

He grabbed his towel and was tucking it around his waist, walking back to his clothes, when he saw Isaac being lead in by a guard.

 

“Dude, hey. How are you buddy?” Stiles felt two waves of relief. One, because Isaac was looking better, and two because now he had something to distract him from Derek. Surly Derek, who was staring at him whilst water cascaded over his muscles like something out of a fucking porno.

 

Isaac greeted Stiles with a small smile as the guard left him and now Stiles was actually glad he’d been forced to wash because Isaac was probably traumatised enough without having to smell Stiles pre-shower.

 

“I uh, changed cells.” Isaac small voice sounded so pleased, “I heard that you requested it, thanks.”

 

“No problem dude, you never stop looking out for your first cellmate.” Stiles winked, and he noticed Isaac wincing as he tried to pull off his sweatshirt.

 

“Here,” Stiles jumped to give the boy a hand when the sweatshirt got caught on his bandages He untangled it and helped Isaac with his shoes, deciding to let Isaac shuck off his own pants. Stiles picked his clothes up of the floor and dumped them on the bench whilst Isaac gingerly stepped under a showerhead, being careful to keep his bandages dry.

 

Stiles got dressed and waited for Isaac to shower. He could only shower his head and parts of his body that weren’t bandaged so it didn’t take long. Stiles helped him dress, and they made their way to the cafeteria, Stiles pointedly ignoring Derek watching them leave, the psycho.

 

Stiles was pleasantly surprised to find that instead of the expected cold oatmeal, breakfast today was cereal. He and Isaac grabbed a bowl of cornflakes and a banana each and began to walk over to where he could see Scott on one of the tables. They were just passing the Argent table when a hand reached out and grabbed Isaac’s wrist, making him jump and drop his tray with a clatter.

 

“Hey, Isaac. Not sitting with us today?” Matt sneered at Isaac who looked like he was trying exceptionally hard not to cry. “I’m offended, first switching cells and now this. Tut tut, its like you’re trying to make me your enemy. And I thought we got along so well.” His thumb stroked along a bruise.

 

Stiles’s brain was battling with himself Did he answer back, or just grab Isaac and go? Which was less likely to get them stabbed? Matt was twisting Isaac’s wrist and a whimper escaped the young boy’s lips making Stiles loose it.

 

“How about you get your fucking hands off of him.” Stiles’s heart was racing and he could feel everyone on the table staring at him, daring him. Stiles took a step forward even though his brain was screaming ‘what the fuck are you doing? Run away!’

 

“Excuse me,” Matt drawled raising an eyebrow at Stiles.

 

“You heard me,” Stiles spat back “I said get your creepy-ass fucking ha…” Stiles trailed off as Chris rose from the chair next to where Stiles was standing until his face was right in Stiles’s, shoulders squared.

 

“Isaac’s sitting with us.” Came a voice from out of nowhere. Everyone startled, even Chris, almost butting his head against Stiles’s, but Derek just twisted Matt’s grip off Isaac and placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder leading him off with a glower thrown in Chris’s direction.

 

Stiles followed, like a confused puppy, noting the murderous looks from the rest of the gang that didn’t seemed to phase Derek in the least. Glancing back, he felt a pang of satisfaction when one of the bigger guys smacked Matt upside the head.

 

Scott’s eyes were wide when Derek reached their table and pushed Isaac down on one seat, taking the one beside him stoically. Stiles sat on the opposite side of the table and Derek grabbed Stiles’s banana and his own orange and shoved them in front of Isaac before starting to eat his cereal.

 

“Wow dude, that was awesome! My cell mate is badass.” Stiles grinned, Derek just grunted into his cereal.

 

“Thank you… both” Said Isaac, looking between them. Derek didn’t respond for a moment, just kept glowering at his cereal before saying.

 

“You need to stop being so timid. It makes you an easy target.” Stiles wanted to protest because, whoa that was way harsh, but Derek continued, “People aren’t going to bail you out, and if they do they are going to think you owe them something, and you don’t want to owe people in here.”

 

“So you’re saying he now owes you?” Stiles said incredulous, “Because dude, he didn’t ask for your help, we had it there.” It was a blatant lie, Stiles and Derek knew, but still. Derek scoffed at him twitching an eyebrow.

 

“He doesn’t owe me. I’m just saying, other people would think he does.” Derek went back to his cereal, clearly this conversation was over, and Stiles wasn’t about to argue. It was quiet for a minute before Scott, who was next to Stiles piped up.

 

“Its nice to see you out and about Isaac.” Isaac bit his lip in a shy smile. “Boyd says you’re gonna be my new cellmate. Do you snore?” Scott wrinkled his nose in question.

 

The rest of the meal was awkward with Derek there, creating a buttload of tension. Stiles could tell he made Scott uncomfortable by the way he kept shifting on his seat, and Isaac actually asked Derek if he could eat the orange Derek had placed in front of him, like he thought it was a test or something and to eat it would mean failure. At least after he got the go-ahead grunt from Derek Isaac seemed to relax slightly, Scott just looked like he had crabs he was that shifty. Maybe he did.

 

After they had all finished Scott stood up to go. “Coming?” He asked Isaac, who faltered before picking up his fruit peel to put in the bin and following Scott out. Stiles, who had been clinking his spoon around his teeth with boredom, saw Derek get up and… was he supposed to follow? Derek didn’t say anything to him, or look at him. He didn’t really want to stay here on his own though, especially with the Argent table still glaring at them from across the hall.

 

He was really starting to feel like a puppy following it’s master right now.

 

\---

 

“What’s your beef with the Argents anyway? Besides the fact that they are creepy psycho killers but then again I would have thought that would have been a bonding topic.” Stiles blurted out when they were back in their cell and Derek was in his nest. He stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe he had just said that. To a murder. Whom he was locked in a confined space with every night for the foreseeable future.

 

“I killed Gerard’s daughter.” Derek said tightly.

 

Well then, thought Stiles, and he lent back into his pillow expecting that to be the extent of their conversation, until “…and I’m not a psycho killer.”

 

Stiles scoffed, because admitting to murder someone and then claiming not to be a killer in the same sentence? He obviously had some screw lose up there. Suddenly Derek was looming above him, hand on the pillow Stiles’s head laid on and nose millimetres away from his.

 

“Look, don’t judge me. You are a killer too.” Stiles stuttered because, one: he had just been reminded that, yes, he’d eradicated someone’s life, and two: Derek’s face so so close to his he see every detail of his face and seriously what the fuck colour were his eyes? Blue, hazel, green and gold? Who the fuck had gold in their eyes? Derek apparently. Stiles sucked his lips into his mouth because Derek was panting on them and they were starting to tickle.

 

“W-well y-yeah, you’re right.” and Stiles knew he should stop there he knew it. But his mouth was stupid and apparently didn’t like being compared with Derek. “But it was an accident and unlike you it was to protect my family instead of burning them a-fucking-live!” and oh shit he was going to die.

 

Derek paused for a moment, and Stiles couldn’t feel his breath on his face anymore. When Derek moved Stiles automatically flinched expecting a punch, a stab, a snap of the neck. But Derek moved… away. Huh?

 

Stiles looked at Derek’s back, he was hunched over the sink, clutching it, and Stiles actually thought he could break it clean off the wall if he wanted. Stiles licked his lips and wondered if he was supposed to do something. He wasn’t acquitted to dealing with regular people let alone unstable convicts.

 

Stiles could see Danny and Jackson watching them from their cell like this was a fucking telenova. Danny was sitting crossed-legged on the floor with Jackson in his lap, his chin resting on Jackson’s shoulder. Stiles flipped them off. He was going to die anyway what was the point in trying to stay on people’s good side. Stiles huffed, and normally he would have laid back down, but he figured that was just asking to be killed, you cant defend yourself lying down.

 

After a good five minutes Derek turned, but it was to glare at Danny and Jackson who quickly scuffled off of each other like little kids who had been caught watching porn and busied themselves. Danny doing push-ups and Jackson grabbing a comic.

 

Derek turned to Stiles, Stiles grimaced with every step he took towards him (granted it was like three), seriously this was a moment for the Jaws theme. Stiles scrunched his eyes closed. He wondered what getting stabbed would feel like, he’d heard that if it was in the gut it didn’t hurt. God he hoped Derek did it in the gut. Stiles felt the bed dip down, and he risked opening an eye slowly.

 

Derek was sitting facing Stiles, his legs crossed on the bed and, lord was that a weird position for him to sit in The child-like stance made him look so angelic, but then he was also giving Stiles’s eyes full access to his crotch and his ahem, sizeable appendage because honestly, the prison sweatpants left nothing to the imagination.

 

“Look.” Derek growled, his voice low so that Danny and Jackson (who obviously were still listening) couldn’t hear. “I don't know why I feel the need to justify my actions to you. You‘re kind of an annoying shit.” Stiles wasn’t going to lie to himself, that stung just a bit. “But you don’t know anything about who I killed or why.”

 

Stiles wanted to correct him that actually he now knew Derek killed Argent’s daughter, but thankfully his mouth was listening to his brain telling him to shut up right then. Derek’s eyes were penetrating his, jaw flexing, in a way that gave Stiles goose bumps.

 

“I didn’t ask about why you were here, nor did I judge, yet you don’t seem to show the same courtesy to me.” Stiles wondered briefly if today was the most Derek had spoken in his entire sentence. He was actually surprised how eloquent he was, he half expected him to be part caveman. “Did you ever think that people may have legitimate motive for murder? You don’t know my story. You don’t get to judge me. Back off.”

 

“Ok.” Stiles mumbled feeling thoroughly put in his place.

 

Derek was right. Stiles wasn’t exactly swanning around all high and mighty, but he did kind of think he was better than his fellow inmates, when he was in fact a killer. He had been thinking he was less deserved of being here than Jackson and Danny for gods sake, they hadn’t taken a life, except maybe their own.

 

“You’re right. Sorry.” Stiles felt like a five year old, he wanted his dad so bad right now.

 

Derek hesitated, looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and lifted his arm up to the top bunk, pulling himself up in one effortless swing. Stiles was left to languish in his bed, until the lunch buzzer rang.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t worry,” he patted Stiles’s cheek, hard, “it’ll hurt him more than it hurts you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to update TWICE today, giving you an extra long chapter.  
> Because I am nice! And MAY not be able to update tomorrow.

 

Stiles felt a little better when he saw Isaac and Scott chatting happily at a table in the cafeteria. He walked over, shadowed by Derek (he would have protested that if he had to back off Derek did too, but the Argent’s leers made him think better of it) and plonked himself down next to Isaac.

 

“Hey dudes.” Stiles said, noticing the uneasy look Scott gave Derek. He would have made a bodyguard joke right then, but given what happened in the cell he thought he better try and be less... What was it Derek had said? Ah yes, annoying and a little shit. “’Sup?”

 

“Hmm nothing much,” Scott hummed picking mushrooms out of Isaac’s stew and putting them in his own bowl, “Oh no, wait, I got a job.” He grinned proudly.

 

“Wait, you can get jobs?” Stiles asked, because hey, why did no-one mention this to him? He saw Derek roll his eyes at him but Stiles ignored him because he’s being a good backer offer… if that was even a word. Scott snorted.

 

“Yeah, I mean if you have no misdemeanours for at least six months and the jobs themselves are dire man, I’m in the laundry room. But hey, money’s money right?”

 

“Beats robbing a bank I guess.” Isaac mumbled into his stew, but Scott just elbowed him playfully and laughed. Stiles smiled at the exchange, because he was so grateful that Isaac had Scott now, anyone would have been better than Matt but Scott was seriously the best of the best. Probably even better than Stiles, because Scott knew when to shut up.

 

“If I were you,” Derek spoke after they had all eaten and were getting up to leave. Derek had been first to finish but seemed to wait for them, it was nice of him, Stiles would give him that. “I would choose somewhere other than the yard to go later.”

 

Shit, Stiles thought, that was actually a good point.

 

“Where else is there to go?” he asked the table generally, Scott answered.

 

“Uh the gym…. and well if you have a visitor… but we don‘t, um the libra-”

 

“There‘s a library?!.” Stiles interrupted, voice raised, because hell here he had been going out of his mind when there was a fucking book palace? Then he kind of pieced together Derek’s book and Jackson’s comics, he guess he’d kind of assumed their families had given them to them. “We are definitely going there.” Stiles was resolute when Scott nodded. He didn’t want to watch burly men pump iron and be reminded how scrawny he was in comparison, he already had Derek reminding him of that on a daily basis. Plus, books were less likely to give him an akward boner.

 

“Ok.” Scott said, and stacked Isaac’s tray under his own as they climbed over the bench. Derek shadowed them until they reached the library and Stiles half expected him to join them, but he just carried on walking as they all bundled into the door.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. That was normal right? He was kind of their own personal… well not a guardian angel because hell, that was just laughable. Stiles guessed he was more like their own personal superhero. Like Superman… but when he was taking red kryptonite. That just made Stiles ponder momentarily on pink kryptonite’s effects until he shook his head back to reality.

 

The library was not a book palace. More like a book… cave? But not in the cool bat cave kinda way, and fuck he needed to stop thinking about superheroes He blamed being surrounded by stupidly muscled bodies 24/7. There were only about three shelves that hadn’t collapsed in on themselves. The librarian, if there even was one, seemed to have given up and just left stacks of books on the floor. Great.

 

They picked their way over to a small circular table surrounded by a number of wonky metal stools. It was empty, not an inmate or guard in sight, well other than them three.

 

“Well these look comfy.” Stiles gingerly sat on one of the stools and flailed a bit when it wobbled. “Perfect.”

 

Scott sniggered and sat down next to him, Isaac taking a place on his other side. Suddenly, Stiles had an epiphany.

 

“Hey Scott, do they have law books here?”

 

“Yeah… why?” Scott asked eyeing Stiles suspiciously.

 

“This seems like the perfect opportunity to work on our cases.” Stiles beamed, “Well, Isaac’s case anyway.”

 

“Really?” Isaac said, his eyes growing wide and Stiles couldn’t help but think of Mort from Madagascar.

 

“Of course,” Stiles said, he didn’t get why this kid was always so surprised that some people were actually nice. “Uh we just need to find tangible evidence to back your story, and with a bit of lawyer mumbo-jumbo we can fix it. Or if that doesn’t work, plea self defence or something. I don’t know. This is what the books are for.” This speech was supposed to be reassuring, but the rambling kind of cramped that style.

 

“Uh.” Isaac sounded unsure, his shoulders were beginning to droop again.

 

“There’s no harm in trying right?” Scott said nudging Stiles’s foot. That was probably meant for Isaac so Stiles nudged Isaac’s foot to make up for Scott’s bad aim. Isaac nodded picking himself up.

 

“Don’t think we have much else to do.” He sighed as they started sifting through the piles of books closest too their feet.

 

\--- 

 

That was pretty much their fixed routine for the next two weeks. Derek eating with them, silently of course, and then dropping them off at the library so they could research Isaac’s case. They weren’t getting far with it though. Stiles had asked officer Harris, a weasely-looking man with glasses, about organising a request with the warden so they could get the case-files to help them, but Harris hadn’t gotten back to them yet, and Stiles doubted that he had even talked to Finstock for them. He was too busy with his head stuck up the Argent’s butts. Well, now Stiles knew how they got their bane passed security.

 

He had managed to keep out of Derek’s way too, only talking to ask him to flush the toilet again, or to help him to do the twisty thing he did to stop the tap whenever it started to gurgle insufferably in the middle of the night. He was quite proud of himself, even though it was torture. But he was staying backed off. He didn’t even complain when Derek followed him into the shower every time he went, he supposed it was just for security, Isaac and Scott always joined him too, so it was really just strength in numbers.

 

He was getting pretty used to the close confines, nudity (especially Derek‘s nudity), and no personal time. Although, a month without jerking off? Stiles was surprised he wasn’t popping boners everywhere like when he was thirteen… god that was an awkward period in his life. He supposed the permanent fear kept his dick from getting too excited.

 

His father had been to see him twice, respecting Stiles’s once a week rule. It was nice, but painful, to see his dad. He would spend most of the time lecturing his father about eating right and keeping his cholesterol low so his father didn’t have time to ask how Stiles was doing. In the second visit Stiles accidentally let Slip that Scott wasn’t in actual fact his room-mate whilst talking about Isaac (and asking his dad for the files Harris seemed to have forgotten about). His dad had looked concerned when asking who it was but Stiles just waved his hand and said;

 

“Some guy, in for the same thing as me. He’s nice, kind of protects us.” Which wasn’t really a lie, I mean both him and Derek were in prison for killing a person… or in Derek’s case people, and Derek did kind of protect them, so he must be nice, right?

 

Ok, maybe nice was pushing it a little. Stiles avoided saying Derek’s name though as his father probably knew about his case, and Stiles didn’t want to waste his time lecturing his dad of the importance of keeping a healthy heart only to them go and give his father a heart attack from worry. The buzzer went off before the Sheriff could inquire further, and Stiles stood up with a quick, ‘Love you pop.’ before returning to his cell and releasing a large breath that he didn’t even realise he was holding in.

 

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him from where he was straddling the toilet, his hand in its obligatory place on the wall and Jesus! Stiles knew he had accepted the close confines and nudity thing but Derek’s cock was everywhere. Its like it was following him, stalking him and that was when Stiles realised he was staring… at Derek’s cock. Stiles averted his eyes hurriedly but there wasn’t really anywhere to look in this small space, so they ended up on Derek’s face and... was he smirking at Stiles? Well that was just rude. Seriously he was just standing there, cock in hand, and smirking at Stiles.

 

“I… uh-” Stiles arms danced around wildly for a second words failing him, maybe Derek had some kind of mute signal, and then he just pointed to the bed before sitting on it and grabbing a book. “Just reaching the climax.” Stiles said flicking through the battered copy of David Copperfield and cursing at his choice of words. Derek snorted.

 

“Don’t laugh at me.” Stiles exclaimed indignantly, eyes fervently fixed on a random page. “Only my friends get to laugh at me.” He received another snort.

 

“Are you going to stop me?” Derek’s voice was more teasing than challenging, off-character. It kind of made Stiles‘s heart race, in a good way. “Besides, who says we can’t be friends?”

 

“Ugh, You did!” Stiles said looking up at, the now fully-clad, Derek in incredulity. “When you called me an annoying little shit, and told me to back off. Which I have.”

 

Derek, who was looming over him, looked surprised at Stiles’s feistiness, but Stiles was annoyed, and he’d just had to leave his dad so wasn’t letting anyone bullshit him right now.

 

“Ok.” Derek said tilting his head to look at Stiles, “I was a bit harsh, I get that.”

 

Stiles scoffed about to interject because a bit harsh, but Derek held up his finger to shush him, and Stiles didn’t know why but he shushed faster than a toddler on the naughty step.

 

“You were pushing my buttons, to be fair. Things got a bit too personal for both of us.” Derek reasoned and Stiles blew a raspberry in admission because yeah, he had kind of mentioned the whole family killing thing which maybe have stepped over some invisible line. "And I only said you were _kind of_ an annoying little shit." Derek's mouth turned up a little at the side.

 

“So….“ Stiles bobbed his head forward “Truce?” He asked, his face scrunching up to try and hide the hopeful look that would otherwise be splayed across his face. This guy was kind of saving his life daily by being in close range everyday despite gaining nothing in return, the least Stiles could do was forgive him for calling him annoying. Its better than having to repay him in sexual favours, although Stiles isn’t sure how adverse to that he would be.

 

Darn, If only the whole mass-murder thing wasn’t such a deal-breaker.

 

“Truce.” Derek conceded, and pulled himself onto his bunk, giving Stiles the obligatory flash of his toned abs, and treasure-trail. “Your book is upside down by the way.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and Stiles quietly cussed at the David Copperfield hardback for making him look stupid.

 

\---

 

Stiles was getting used to the routine of avoiding the Argents and having Derek around, just in case. So it was rather disconcerting when, the morning after their truce, Derek was summoned to see Finstock. Stiles hoped he wasn't in trouble... actually no, why would he care if Derek was in trouble? 

 

When Derek hadn’t returned by the time the breakfast buzzer came Stiles didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t realised how much he banked on Derek escorting him everywhere. He considered staying in his cell and telling Isaac and Scott to do the same, but then he remembered Mel and that plan dissolved quickly.

 

He filed out of his cell, behind Danny and Jackson and peered around, looking for Derek, but only spotted Isaac and Scott, the latter frowning and mouthing ’where’s Derek?’ at him. Stiles just bit his lip in response. Normally he could manage to weave back to Isaac and Scott, but this fucking brute of a prisoner was behind Stiles and just kept bumping him forward with his belly every time Stiles attempted to turn around. So he stayed behind the two baners, picking up his tray and bowl of oatmeal and began to make his way to his table.

 

He was passing the Argent’s table, still walking behind Danny and Jackson, when Jackson was stopped, blocking Stiles’s way, and fuck this was not a position he wanted to be in.

 

“You’re late on payment.” Chris said to Jackson who had just started sweating profusely.

 

“I-I know.” Jackson stammered, his usual smugness wiped off his face in replacement of pure terror, and that’s when Stiles noticed the shank in one of the gang member’s hand. “I-I’ll g-get it I s-swear. I just n-need more t-time.”

 

“Hmm.” Chris pondered, his finger poked the guy’s side “Perhaps the loss of a kidney would give you more time.”

 

“Well that’s just illogical.” Stiles didn’t realise he had spoken out loud until everyone was staring at him. Jackson and Danny were frozen like rabbits in headlights, and when Chris stepped away from Jackson and towards Stiles, Danny pulled his cellmate backwards into his arms, away from the table. Stiles gulped, cussing his big mouth. He hadn't realised how relaxed he's become with Derek's protection, too relaxed… shit. 

 

“I-I was just thinking out loud… accidentally… ignore me.” Stiles blathered, backtracking hurriedly. Chris looked at him like he was a piece of steak, which was highly disconcerting.

 

“Stilinski, right?” Chris didn’t wait for a response. “Son of the Beacon Hill’s sheriff.” There was a smile in his voice as he dramatically looked around. “And where is your bodyguard today? Oh Hale? Here doggy dog.” He whistled, and Stiles didn’t really get the whole pantomime-villain act, but hell if he was going to mock a man with an armed posse.

 

Stiles could see everyone in near vicinity staring at them. He looked around for a guard or something to call to, but there was only Harris, leaning back on a wall purposefully looking in the opposite direction. Stiles was screwed.

 

“I’m sure Derek will be here soon.” Stiles tried to laugh but all that came out was some weird honking noise, “He’s never one to skip a meal.” Chris wasn’t listening though.

 

“Do you know who was part of the team that sent my father and me down?” Chris tilted his head, “I’ll give you a clue, his incompetent son is in this room.”

 

“Small world.” Stiles managed to squeak and he tried to step back but just bumped into Matt who had manoeuvred behind him at some point, creepy. Chris huffed, amused.

 

“You know we,” He gestured to his father, who was watching coolly, “spent a long time wondering how we can right the wrong your father did to us. To hurt him… and then poof, you came along. Like Christmas came early.” He sneered. “Don’t worry,” Chris patted Stiles’s cheek, hard. “it’ll hurt him more than it hurts you.”

 

Stiles didn’t even have time to protest or run, the blade in Matt’s hand was already in his side.

 

“Bitch…” Stiles said a rush of pain and wooziness hitting him as he swayed forward. Chris stepped out of the way and Stiles stumbled over his tray which he didn’t even realise he’d dropped. He pressed a hand to his side. He didn’t need to see the blood to know it was there, he could already feel the warm stickiness seeping through his fingers.

 

He managed to stagger about six steps away from the Argent table, he didn’t know where he was going he just had to get away. An arm was around him. He looked through bleary eyes expecting to see Scott or Isaac, but it was Danny. Jackson clambering to help drag Stiles along.

 

His vision was going fuzzy and his grip on the wound was slackening, allowing more blood to pulse out. He couldn‘t even remember why he had been holding his side anymore. In the distance he could hear Scott’s frantic voice talking to him, but his brain couldn’t work out what he was saying. Why did he sound so scared? Why was it so dark? 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY more pain!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, updates may be a _bit_ slower over this week because I have 2 assignments to write and an exam to prep!

  
Stiles’s eyelids were heavy. He wanted to open his eyes, but that was impossible right now. He sniffed deeply guessing he’d just have to rely on his other senses. The smell of Derek was missing. He didn’t even know Derek had a scent, he just knew by its absence he wasn’t in his cell. The musky woodland smell of him was gone, but something else smelt familiar, kind of like… Oh god. He was in the hospital ward.

 

His ears pricked as he continued the battle with his eyelids. There was no beeping sound, so he wasn’t on a life machine. That was good right? There was a faint buzz though... It sounded comforting, like he’d heard it before. He suddenly thought of home, and his mother singing him to sleep as a child, and shit maybe he was dead… Did heaven smell like the prison ward?

 

Stiles spent another minute waging war on his eyelids, and celebrated internally when he won the battle. The bright light pierced his pupils, and he was suddenly aware that his tongue had been replaced with sandpaper. He followed the buzzing sound to his right, and blinking his eyes into focus saw his dad, slumped on the chair, snoring softly.

 

A rise of panic overcame Stiles. What was his father doing here unprotected? They were in prison, and his father wasn’t an inmate, surely he’s meant to have an entourage or something! He tried to sit up, calling for a guard but only a croak came out. A sharp pain in his side made him fall back with a loud thump prompting the Sheriff to startle awake.

 

“Stiles? Stiles!” The Sheriff sat up quickly and started fussing over Stiles, who would have protested but his father was shoving water and a straw under his nose, and _sweet Jesus_ it was like niagra falls down his throat… He was never complaining about the shitty prison water again.

 

“Mmmm.” Stiles let out a content groan, and leaned back into the pillows his father had just been punching into shape.

 

“How are you feeling, son?” Stiles’s father asked pressing a hand to his son's forehead.

 

“M’Sleepy.” Stiles responded as he leant into his fathers hand. He’d missed his father's touch. He wanted to be a child again, his dad taking care of him like when he was sick, cooking him soup and watching cartoons on the sofa together.

 

“You’ve been out for a while… days.” His father’s voice cracked. “Shit son, you scared me. What happened?”

 

Stiles wanted to quip that the ‘Argents send their love’ but he knew that would just hurt his father (what was it Chris had said? It would hurt his father more than him?) so he bent the truth again.

 

“Oh, you know, got caught between a druggie and his dealer.” Which did happen, it was wasn’t why he’d been stabbed, but it wasn‘t a lie either. His father sighed.

 

“Stiles.” He shook his head. “What happened to your cellmate? I thought he was keeping you out of trouble?”

 

“He was called the wardens office. And hey, I don’t need a babysitter!” Stiles was offended.

 

“Apparently you do.” His father retorted as we fiddled with Stiles's blanket.

 

“Please stop telling me off. I’m poorly.” Stiles whined, pulling a childish face, because seriously his head was starting to throb. His father smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes just held sorrow, and with a pang Stiles realised that it was his fault his father was so sad. In trying to protect him, he'd been careless and only hurt him more. 

 

There was a scuffling sound that made Stiles look up and;

 

“Stiles!” Scott beamed, suddenly (and very obviously) fake-wheezing when Boyd, who was escorting him, glared. Stiles smiled back.

 

“Hey buddy.”

 

“Hello Scott.” The sheriff smiled at the boy, and Stiles looked between them confused. They knew each other?

 

“Mr McCall, another asthma attack?” Dr Deaton appeared by Stiles’s bedside, “This is your third one in four days, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were faking to see Mr Stilinski.” He raised his eyebrow in mock rebuke and chucked Scott his inhaler. Scott caught it with a grin before hopping onto the bed next to Stiles.

 

“Oh, thanks for the case files Mr Stilinski.” Scott smiled at Stiles’s dad, his voice very perky for someone who's lungs were supposed to be burning. “ I’m sure they’ll come in handy once we have Stiles’s brain back to figure them out.”

 

“Yes, well I heard about Isaac’s case. Judge Cafferty didn’t really want to send him down but the defence was so poor her hands were tied.” It was freaking Stiles out how comfortable they were talking to each other. But then if what Deaton said was true, they’d been here together for three days without Stiles awake to fill the air with his rambling. “This is both a favour to her and Stiles, really. How is the boy?”

 

“Oh Isaac’s great!” Scott said with a grin, and he turned to Stiles, “Derek is looking out for him.” and Stiles don’t know why but that made him warm and fuzzy inside.

 

“Has he actually spoken to either of you?” Stiles couldn’t hold back his curiosity.

 

“With his eyebrows he has… his vocal chords, not so much.” Scott chuckled, then quickly wheezed and pretended to use his inhaler after spotting Boyd watching him.

 

“Okay Stilinski.” Deaton flipped the chart he’d been studying closed. “You should be okay to go back into gen-pop, but I’ll keep you overnight just in case.”

 

"Ok." Stiles said, avoiding his father's worried frown. 

 

“And you McCall can go, now you’ve seen him alive and kicking, before you get us both in trouble.” Deaton gestured to Boyd to come and take Scott, who opened his mouth to protest before slumping his shoulders in defeat and stomping over to Boyd like a child being told to go to bed early.

 

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to go too, Sir.” Deaton looked apologetically at Stiles’s dad. “Its almost 9.”

 

“Yeah Dad, you shouldn’t even be here. Its dangerous.”

 

“I’m a cop Stiles. I live danger.” Stiles actually burst out laughing, because his father was being serious.

 

“Ok Pa, whatever you say.” Stiles managed to choke out, and god he needed to stop because his side was splitting even with the shit loads of pain meds he was apparently on. His father hushed him and stood up slowly.

 

“Love you son,” He said petting Stiles’s hair. “I’m glad you didn’t get a buzz cut again.”

 

“Me too,” Said Stiles, “About the love you I mean, although the hair thing too, that was so high school.” He smiled at his father’s retreating back.

 

“I’m going to put you back under sedation now,” Dr Deaton murmured to Stiles, flicking a needle, and Stiles panicked thinking he was going to jab it into him, before he noticed the IV in his hand, and well whilst that was still a needle at least it was already in. “You need to keep your strength up for tomorrow.”

 

“Hmmm okay.” Stiles said because he could start to feel the medication Deaton had inserted into the IV and it was making him drowsy. And warm and fuzzy, like he was being wrapped in a hug, a warm bodied hug, with nice… big… Adonis… arms….

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Really?!” Isaac said, and Scott was grinning with excitement_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day another chapter!
> 
> Thank You SOOOO much for all the comments, they are BRILLIANT motivation and I REALLY appreciate them. 
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL.

  
Stiles felt so much more energised when he woke up the next morning. He didn’t know what had been in that IV but it made him sleep like the dead. In fact, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gone to heaven and back, it was that good. He stretched his right arm dreamily, keeping his left down because he was actually alert enough to remember the stitches. He was so tempted to peek under the bandages on his otherwise naked torso, but he didn’t want to do any damage. He was prone to that kind of thing happening.

 

“Good morning Mr Stilinski.” Dr Deaton walked over to him, Erica behind his shoulder. “Kindly sit.” Stiles liked this guy, he was polite. Manners were rare in this place.

 

Erica smirked at Stiles as he sat up, was she laughing at his body? What was so funny about it? Sure he wasn’t ripped and had a few moles but his body wasn’t funny. He had decent biceps, and the start of a six pack showing… kind of. Stiles raised his eyebrow (well eyebrows, he still hadn’t figured that out) and she winked back. Oh, did that mean she was checking him out? Stiles puffed up his chest slightly in pride, moles be damned!

 

Deaton flitted around Stiles, checking his breathing and temperature.

 

“You are… A-okay.” He concluded with a final glance under Stiles’s bandage “Erica, do your thing.” Erica winked at the doctor as she helped Stiles up and helped him pull on a sweatshirt, and Stiles swears it totally wasn’t necessary for her to brush his nipples like that. Her hands were cold!

 

Stiles let her help him stand, he wasn’t going to be shy about needing help. He looked up and noticed another inmate that he hadn’t seen before being lead in. He was dressed in a white tracksuit, and Stiles thought that must be so much harder to clean than his blocks' grey ones. The inmate was attractive, looked looked to be in his thirties. Stiles wasn’t usually attracted to older guys, but then again the acceptance that he was attracted to guys at all was fairly new.

 

Stiles made to walk past him as he was leaving and the guy stopped in his tracks, blocking Stiles’s exit. Stiles step faultered as the guy leant in and breathed in the air around Stiles before he was shoved forward by his guard. It was unnerving. It was the same thing Derek sometimes did to him, sniffing. Stiles had gotten used to it, Derek’s closeness and weird sniffing. However, the way this guy looked at Stiles afterwards, and smiled? Stiles struggled to describe it. It was just… wicked. He was looking at Stiles like he was prey. Okay, he was no longer attractive to Stiles, nope. Just creepy. Matt-like creepy. And that is fucking creepy. Stiles shuddered when he was out of eye-line.

 

“Straight to breakfast for you.” Erica sang, redirecting Stiles when he attempted to walk down the corridor leading to his cell. “I hear its oatmeal today, yummy.” Stiles could hear the laughter in her voice, and he just stayed silent, doing his best Derek impression as he marched into the cafeteria and joined the line.

 

He looked over at his table just to check that Derek and Isaac were as alive as Scott had been, and he noticed that their table had expanded. Danny and Jackson were sitting with them. Danny and Scott seemed to be in conversation, and Jackson and Isaac were staring at them. Isaac looked a bit uneasy, but that was probably because Jackson was making no qualms hiding his jealousy.

 

Stiles scoffed and his attention turned to Derek, hunched next to Jackson, silent and broody as usual. At least Stiles could rely on him not to change, his good ol’ trusty, murderering cellie. Well not his, Derek didn’t belong to him. They weren’t boyfriends or anything… were they even friends? Stiles shook his head to clear it and turned back to the queue, focusing his attention on the food. Ah oatmeal, nutritious and delicious… well maybe not.

 

Scott and Isaac had matching grins when Stiles approached the table, squishing in between Jackson and Derek.

 

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed.

 

“Hi, Stiles.” Danny nodded, giving him a dimply smile, and Stiles didn’t think that Danny had ever spoken to him directly before. Stiles smiled back politely.

 

“How are you feeling?” Isaac asked looking relieved to have something to distract Scott enough that Danny could go back to eye-fucking Jackson.

 

“Good,” Stiles replied, “Fit enough to work on your case later at least.” He winked (ok, blinked).

 

“Oh, cool,” Isaac said, pleased. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem, buddy.” And the warm beam that lit up the kids face made Stiles’s heart swell. He didn’t think Isaac had ever had many friends, and Stiles knew how he felt, because he didn’t have any real friends outside of here either. He had acquaintances sure, people he knew from his job, that would ask him out for a drink every once in a while but no-one he really _talked_ to. Just his dad.

 

He glanced at Derek who was staring fervently at his empty bowl as if trying to read his future in the remaining oat flakes. Dude could have at least said hey, Stiles thought with a huff.

 

\---

 

Danny turned out to actually be pretty good with the law stuff. Despite suffering from bane withdrawal (he and Jackson were forced to withdraw from the Argents, lest they wanted to get stabbed), which made him fidgety and grumpy at times (and Jackson grumpy all the time), he had already highlighted some things in Isaac’s case file and they were able to make some progress.

 

Derek had joined them in the library this time too, bent over ridiculously on one of the little stools. Stiles wondered if this was the first time, or had he been hanging out with them whilst Stiles was unconscious? The thought made Stiles feel kind of weird. Offended. Like Derek had only avoided them before because of Stiles. Did he really hate Stiles that much?

 

Stiles engrossed himself in the case files, and was about to give up nearing the end of their rec time when-

“Isaac?” Isaac, who had been reading ‘Court procedures for dummies’ over Scott’s shoulder, looked up at Stiles in response. “It says here that your father had lesions on the right side of his temple right… but you’re right handed.”

 

“Yeah.” Isaac nodded. “The public defendant said that but they argued that I could have used my left arm anyways.”

 

“But,” Stiles shook his head excitedly, “look here. It has archive police records showing that you sustained a cracked left collar bone and split elbow on your left side in a ‘domestic dispute’ when you were 15.” Stiles looked at the others, and even Danny and Jackson were giving him blank looks. Only Derek seemed to show an ounce of understanding, he was giving Stiles a weird look anyhow. Stiles sighed at the others.

 

“Look at the coroners report,” Stiles turned the file to look at them, “Mr Lahey displays deep abrasions on his right temporal lobe, resulting in a severe skull fracture caused by substantial brute force.” Stiles read the report aloud, slowly, “Results from the crime scene investigation display evidence that the murder weapon was a hard-back copy of ‘the old testament‘. Fingerprint evidence shows the prints of both Mr Lahey and his son, Isaac Lahey.” Still blank stares. “Guys, don’t you see, the mass of the book, combined with Isaac’s weight and the lessened force of his injury, broken joints cause permanent change in the strength-”

 

“In human talk please.” Jackson interrupted, giving Stiles a look as if _he_ was the stupid one.

 

“Basically SCIENCE and MATH prove that with Isaac’s injuries to his left side, plus the cracked ribs Deaton estimated, and could probably testify, that Isaac had previous to his sentence, make it almost impossible for Isaac to have been able to cause damage that severe with a fucking book. You might have just about been able to cut his head but not fracture his skull. It’s impossible. You can at least get an appeal with this.”

 

“Really?!” Isaac said, and Scott was grinning with excitement.

 

“Really.” Stiles smiled, satisfied. “Plus there’s about eight police reports of domestic violence here going back from when you were eleven,” Stiles flicked through a file, “that would be enough for a self defence plea, and a separate argument for the county’s disregard to a minor in trouble. They should have taken your father to court after the elbow incident at least, if not before… but um, I’d rather you did that as a last option. My dad is the sheriff now after all, even if he wasn‘t at the time of the reports.” Stiles's clapped his hands together and was about to suggest they pick out some more specific books when the buzzer rang.

 

“Food!” Jackson exclaimed, because apparently another side affect of the withdrawals was permanent hunger, and he and Danny both leapt up and all but ran to the cafeteria.

 

Stiles wasn't really hungry, but he got up anyway because, although Danny and Jackson were apparently his friends now (cemented by a rather awkward offer of sexual favours from them to express their gratitude, which Stiles declined, because he wanted people to suck him off because they wanted him not because they were indebted to him thank you very much.), he still thought he could score more points with them by giving them his portion of whatever mush was served up tonight.

 

He winced as he got up and noticed both Scott and Derek hovering beside him, arms ready to catch him if he were to fall.

 

“Jeez guys, I’m not an invalid.” He scoffed, pushing Scott’s arm away. He let Derek's linger. He had kind of missed Derek’s hovering and his closeness. It was like when you had a puppy that irritated the hell out of you, until you went on holiday, and then all you could do was miss it. Not that Derek was anything like a puppy, more of a German Shepard or feral husky. When no-one moved he let out an exasperated exhale and lead the way out of the library and into the cafeteria.

 

He was kind of glad he didn’t have an appetite for dinner, because it looked positively dire. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be lasagna or curry, it smelled like puke whatever it was. He shoved it in front of Jackson and Danny and soon as he reached the table.

 

“Enjoy.” Stiles muttered.

 

“You know, saving Jackson made me like you Stiles, but this… now I think I love you.” Danny beamed, shovelling Stiles’s food into his mouth with fervour, trying to fend off Jackson’s grabby hands. It took less than a second for him to give to Jackson’s pathetic whines, and he shoved a forkful of mush into his mouth to shut him up.

 

Stiles had to admit, they were kind of adorable together. He was starting feel bad for judging Jackson’s affair so badly. Danny was irresistible, and for all Stiles knew, Jackson’s hot wife might be cheating too. Prison was honestly making him so much more… open minded. He was much less quick to pass judgement, he was kind of friends with a mass-murderer for gods sake!

 

\---

 

  
“I think I need a shower.” Stiles groaned when they were walking back to their cells. He scrunched his nose. He’d been out cold for quite a few days, and he didn’t think Deaton was the kind to give bed baths.

 

“We have time before lockdown,” Derek said, and Stiles thought ‘we’ meant everyone, but Scott and Isaac wandered into Danny and Jackson’s cell (Jackson's comic collection it turned out, came from his wife, not the library) leaving Stiles to be escorted to the shower. By Derek. Stiles wasn’t really sure what this meant.

 

“Shouldn’t you stay with them… for you know, uh protection?” Stiles asked, turning back to look in the direction of the cell. Derek quirked his brow at Stiles who promptly tripped over his foot. Luckily Derek had quick catching reflexes.

 

“Boyd and Erica are patrolling the cells. There are no guards in the shower.” Derek’s voice was gruff, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether that was some kind of threat or insinuation. No guards in the shower… Stiles shuddered.

 

The showers were actually empty, which was strange, usually there were at least a few inmates in there. Even Pervy-Paul, who never actually showered, just watched with a hand down his joggers, was missing.

 

Stiles gingerly started to take off his jumper. He was alone with Derek, and about to get naked. Granted he’d been naked on his own with Derek in their cell, but they weren’t really alone with Danny and Jackson in sight.

 

Stiles barely managed to get one arm out of his sweater before he was panting in pain, his stitches twitching. Derek, who had been watching him, stepped forward hesitantly and began to help him peel off Stiles’s clothes. His hands were rough and warm, and Stiles trembled when they grazed his hips, pulling his sweatpants down.

 

Stiles thought Derek was just going to leave Stiles to it after that, but he started stripping off his own clothes. Stiles tried to avert his eyes, really he did, but he was a little woozy, and keeping himself upright was hard enough without having to consciously control his eyes.

 

“Uh, I need to try not to get my bandages wet.” Stiles mumbled. He was grateful when Derek wrapped an arm around his waist. Not just because it felt warm and secure to have his firm, naked side pressed against Stiles’s, but because Stiles couldn’t really afford to slip right now.

 

Derek guided Stiles under one of the shower heads and turned the faucet. The water tumbling over Derek’s head, wetting his hair flat onto his head, and dripping down onto his chest and body. Stiles gulped as he tentatively put one leg in, and then out, putting the other in. He couldn’t really bend down to soap his body up.

 

“I- I can’t.” he gestured that he couldn’t bend down, and Derek leaned forward, indicating that Stiles could hold onto his shoulder whilst he lifted each leg high enough to soap. Derek’s shoulders were broad and every now and again Stiles could feel a muscle twitch beneath the balmy skin. Stiles managed to wash his arms just fine, he had to dampen the edge of his towel to wipe under his arms though, as he couldn’t put his torso under the spray. He used the corner to swipe over his stomach and to wash his crotch and ass area too.

 

He was aware that he was moving slow, and Derek had already managed to soap himself up and rinse himself off before Stiles had even done one armpit. Stiles hissed when he attempted to reach up and shampoo his hair, it hurt. Derek pushed his hands down and lathered his own hands with shampoo before fisting through Stiles’s hair. Stiles had to bite back a groan as Derek’s fingertips massaged Stiles’s scalp. In these walls he was touch-starved and _Jesus_ Derek's fingers felt so good.

 

Derek slowly dipped Stiles’s head forward so that it was under the jet of water and Stiles was in direct eye-line of Derek’s dick. Shit. It looked much bigger up close… and it had already been quite reasonable in Stiles’s opinion. Stiles closed his eyes, he did not want to get an inappropriate boner right now. He still hadn’t jacked off in here, and yes it was killing him slowly, but getting a boner whilst Derek was touching him? Yeah, that would kill him very quickly. He tried to simply focus on Derek’s hands that were smoothing through his hair and... What was taking him so long? Was Derek checking for lice or something? That would actually make sense considering their predicament… being in prison and all.

 

“Close your eyes.” Derek grunted, after the assumed nit-check. For a split second Stiles panicked. Had Derek seen him peeking at his cock? But Derek just gently tilted Stiles’s head so that his face was under the stream, rising off any shampoo that might have gotten on his face. And then Stiles was upright, and the faucet was being turned off before Stiles was lead to the bench, his side now pressed against Derek’s wet body. “Sit.” Derek ordered.

 

Stiles sat on the bench with a ‘hrmph’ sound. He was getting kind of sleepy, the cold water hadn’t woken him up like he’d expected. Stiles brushed his towel over his body and adamantly didn't look as Derek dried himself off next to him. Stiles was still a bit damp when Derek helped him put his clothes on, the dampness making the fabric cling to his body. He could feel the thin material it sticking to his butt, moulding around his cheeks, and he cussed the fact that he couldn’t reach around there, because he couldn’t exactly ask Derek to unwedge his butt.

 

He held his side as they made their way back to their cell and Boyd hurried them into their concrete cage. They had almost missed the buzzer because Stiles had taken so long. He didn’t even care though, he was so shattered he didn’t even jump when the bars clanked shut like he usually did. He just sank into his bed.

 

“Here.” Stiles looked up and Derek was holding Stiles’s toothbrush, already pasted, in front of him.

 

“Thanks.” Stiles said quietly. He popped the brush into his mouth, wearily moving it against his teeth, before he realised he was going to have to get up again to spit out the paste. He groaned and picked himself up, Derek noticed the struggle and helped him, pulling his bed-sheets back and helping him hobble the four steps back to the bunk.

 

“You know…” Stiles mumbled drowsily as he slid into the bed and Derek actually pulled his sheets back over him. “You may act sullen and hostile, but you’re a nice guy really… and… and…” Stiles’s head was on the pillow as he tried to stay conscious enough to make his point, “I think…mmm…. I like.. you.“ The last word came out as more of a slur than anything but Stiles didn’t care, the pillow was as comfy as it had ever been. He could feel Derek’s hand, still against his shoulder from where he had been arranging the sheet, and it felt nice… really nice. Like Derek. And with that Stiles was lulled to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will be pleased to know I have just finished writing a looooong sexy sexy time scene which should be a few chapters from now. So as much as I hurt you all, I do reward you aswell! ;D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Shhh, you’re hallucinating.” Derek whispered, “Go to sleep.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short fluffy chapter to tide you through..

 

 

Stiles groaned. He was in pain. A lot of pain. The sharp stabbing in his side, like ghostings of the actual incident, brought him back to consciousness with every impact. 

 

Stiles blinked his eyes open and then groaned again, louder, as the light pierced his corneas. He shut one eye in a squint and bit his lip to stop another groan as the movement caused his skull to throb. The light was only faint indicating the very early hours of the morning, but Stiles felt so sensitive even that hurt. He shuddered out a breath.

 

“Stiles?” Derek was leaning over him, fingers turning his chin so Stiles was forced to look him in the eyes. Those weirdly beautiful rainbow eyes. Stiles leant into the warm touch of the fingers. God they were so toasty, like pressing his cheek against a radiator. When had he started shivering?

 

“Fucking cold.” Stiles's teeth chattered, and Derek’s fingers travelled to his forehead, and Stiles sighed into the warm bliss.

 

“You’re burning up." Derek muttered. "Hang on.” Stiles whimpered at the loss of Derek’s fingers as he moved over and pressed his cheeks to the bars of their cell. “Guard! Hey!” No reply. Derek cussed and smacked his palm against the bars making them clang and vibrate. It rang through Stiles’s ears followed by the echoed shouts of ‘dude’ and ‘shut the fuck up’ from sleepy inmates.

 

Stiles watched through lidded eyes as Derek crept back over to his side. He stood there, frowning down at Stiles like he was trying to solve a puzzle. It was so frustrating to Stiles. Through his delirium all Stiles could care about was his craving for Derek, for his warmth. He wanted Derek to touch him instead of looking at him like he was a fucking sudoku.

 

“Hand..” Stiles hissed because talking, fuck, breathing was hurting right now. “Warm.” Stiles shut his eyes, because his eyelids were getting even heavier. “Hand.” Stiles whined again, because he didn’t think Derek understood the urgency of this need. Derek hesitated before growling;

 

“Move over.”

 

The bed creaked as Derek got in slowly. Stiles felt the heat before Derek's skin even touched him, but then it did and it was heaven. Derek was so warm and Stiles shivered against him, not even feeling weird when he wrapped his arms around him. This was about survival, right? Stiles’s content sigh was more of a moan.

 

Stiles shifted into him, not even caring that he was snuggled up to a murderer. He felt Derek’s hand press into his wrist, making it twitch. Was Derek trying to hold his hand? Stiles peeked a glance.

 

“The fuck?” He slurred, There was something black trickling through the veins in his wrist and… over to Derek’s. He looked up at Derek's face, at his eyes- “Where’s the rainbows?”

 

“Shhh, you’re hallucinating.” Derek whispered. “Go to sleep.”

 

Stiles would have panicked more, but the warmth, and all his pain were starting to fade, and with it his consciousness. He sighed, content, and dropped his dead back onto Derek’s bicep. How could one person feel so good?

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well I apologise that my being stabbed has caused you so much inconvenience!” Stiles scoffed, although to be honest since arriving he had been putting Derek out, but its not like he asked him to baby-sit them or anything. Derek just.. did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Stereky Stereky goodness. 
> 
> AND I just posted a [Sterek one shot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/632073) so you guy can have DOUBLE Sterek feels tonight, YAY :D 
> 
> (lol, what assignments?)

  
Stiles didn't want to wake up. He was faintly aware of buzzing and noises, but he just wanted to stay in his foggy oblivion. Sleep was good. It was nice and warm. Why did he have to wake?

 

It was only when the warmth was ripped away from him that Stiles roused in protest. He opened his eyes to find he was being rudely hauled out of bed. He only fully gained a grasp of the fact that he was being hauled into the hospital ward, by Boyd and some other guard, when he was faced with the red cross on the door that lead into the actual room. He huffed in protest as they unceremoniously dumped him on an unoccupied bed.

 

“Stilinski. I hear you had a fever last night.” Deaton said, opening Stiles's eyes and mouth like a cat at the vets. It was Deaton’s way. Stiles didn’t care as long as he didn’t die.

 

“M’fine” Stiles muttered. He was feeling better after his Derek blanket, just very groggy and disorientated. The sharp pains had subsided into low aches, and he no longer felt like he was stuck in an avalanche. Deaton shoved a thermometer in his mouth and turned to fuss over the patient in the bed next to Stiles. He didn’t care enough to pay attention until he heard Deaton say ‘Hale’ which made his head snap up sharply, eyes seeking out Derek. Had his fever been contagious? It took him a second to realise Deaton wasn't talking to Derek. He was talking to the weird guy that had sniffed Stiles before, when he was leaving the ward, only weird guy was in grey sweats now.

 

Stiles tried to eavesdrop, but their discussion was too quiet. He just caught a first name, Peter. Stiles continued to stare at the guy, Peter, when Deaton turned back to Stiles and pulled out the thermometer with a small pop.

 

“Mhm, your temperature is normal now. Just take these and you should be fine, and come back tomorrow to get the stitches removed.” He handed Stiles a cup of coffee with a cocktail of pills in and then left to check on an inmate in blue sweats with a large gash on his arm. Stiles gulped the pills down in one with a sip and a grimace. The coffee tasted horrible, but was hot, and it was the first time he’d had it since home. 

 

“So, Stilinski…” A drawl drew Stiles’s attention and sniffer-Peter-Hale-guy was stretched on his side looking at him. Stiles wasn’t sure if the pose was meant to be seductive, but if it _was_ the guy needed to work on his look. His face sent the cannibal-ish ’I want to eat you up’ vibe rather than the sexy kind. “I think we have someone in common.”

 

“Derek?” Stiles guessed, because hell he wasn’t stupid, Hale wasn’t _that_ common a name. The guy smiled his fiendish smile, full teeth on show.

 

“Yes. My dear little nephew. I do hope he’s treating you well, it sure smells like it.” And, okay, Stiles didn’t really know what the fuck this Peter guy was talking about.

 

“Yeah… sure.” Stiles hopped off the bed, ‘cause this dude’s smile was like burning into his soul, and not in a good way. “I should go, uh don’t want to miss breakfast!” He awkward waved before hurriedly walking away, towards a guard who would escort him, he was sure Deaton was finished with him anyway.

 

Derek frowned at him when he sat down at the table with his cold oatmeal. Jackson was sulking next to Danny who had his head on the table, the withdrawals seemed to be getting to them. They hadn’t even fucked last night.

 

“Wow, good to see you lot too, I didn‘t die! Thanks for asking.” Stiles said affronted that Isaac and Scott had been the only ones to smile in greeting.

 

“You should be in the ward. Resting. In bed.” Derek growled.

 

“Well I’ve had the next best thing, coffee. Your uncle says hi by the way.” Stiles said, spooning his food into his mouth.

 

“I know.” Derek grunted glaring at his bowl, obviously avoiding Stiles’s searching look. Stiles turned and rolled his eyes at Scott but stopped mid-roll because he’d just spotted Boyd approaching their table. Was he going to call him back to the hospital ward?

 

“Lahey.” Boyd rumbled, “The warden wants to see you.”

 

“Hey, you can ask about your appeal.” Scott nudged him, trying to appease Isaac’s worried look, as he stood up and let Boyd manhandle him out.

 

\--- 

 

“What is your problem with me?” Stiles asked Derek when they’d returned to their cell. He figured a night of cuddling afforded him the right to pry. “Did I do something wrong?” Derek looked back at him, eyebrows knotted together.

 

“No.” He scowled, and Stiles quirked his brows because he’d need more than that. “I just have stuff on my mind, and you getting yourself in trouble isn’t really helping.”

 

“Well I apologise that my being stabbed has caused you so much inconvenience!” Stiles scoffed, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to look like he wasn't slightly shitting himself for just raising his voice to Derek. He knew he was being a little irrational. Since arriving he had been putting Derek out, but then again its not like he asked him to baby-sit them or anything. Derek just... did.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek sighed, surprising Stiles who had been expecting (and fearing) a fight. He lifted a hand up to run through his hair in a way that caused his biceps to flex distractedly. “I’m sorry I just ca-” Derek stopped suddenly as if realising what he had just said, and Stiles was taken shocked too, because Derek Hale just said sorry. To Stiles of all people! Something in his chest fluttered.

 

“…care about me?” Stiles finished cautiously, because he swears that’s what Derek was about to say. Derek didn’t deny it, just stood there looking at the ground and… blushing. Holy shit, Derek Hale, brooding psychopath and mass-murderer was blushing because of Stiles. Stiles didn’t know when he had started grinning. “Oh my GOD. You do, you care!”

 

“I might… a little.” Derek snarled, his jaw flexing, eyes still fixated on the concrete floor. Stiles sucked his lips into his mouth in attempt to lessen his grin. It didn't work. He tilted his head, coy smile still on his lips and took a step forward.

 

“See, I knew we were friends.” He prodded Derek’s shoulder, his smirk growing, until Derek looked up, face determined.

 

“Friends?” And shit, had Stiles gone too far? Was friends too much? Had he fucked it up? He had just assumed... I mean you care for friends, right? You cuddle friends with fevers… right? Well, this was awkward.

 

“Uh, would you prefer to be something else? Bunk-buddies? Acquaintances? ” Stiles back-tracked hurriedly. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“I want…” Derek let out a frustrated breath and stepped towards Stiles. “I want-” Derek stepped closer crowding Stiles against the sink. He hesitated, tongue darting out to moisten his lips, eyes trailing to Stiles's. Was Stiles going crazy or was Derek about to-

 

Derek opened his mouth slightly as if to speak again, Stiles expected him to speak again, but instead he surged forward crushing his lips against Stiles's.

 

Stiles was a little more than surprised, his eyes fluttered shut as Derek’s lips started to move against his, mouth opening in a kiss that was all teeth and stubble, raw with longing. Stiles didn’t hesitate in kissing him back, dragging his teeth along Derek’s bottom lip in a pull that made the man’s chest rumble and his body rut into Stiles roughly and fuck. _Fuck_. Stiles hissed in pain and Derek backed off almost instantly. Stiles doubled over clutching his side, his wound.

 

“Mother fucker.” Stiles wheezed, cussing his stitches because hell, he was having a _damn_ good time before they got in the way. Derek bent his knees to look into Stiles’s eyes, his hands now a soft pressure on his arms where they had been gripping tightly before.

 

“Shit, are you okay Stiles?” Derek's voice was laced in concern.

 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded sucking in a breath between clenched teeth. “Just.” he gestured the bunk, trying to convey his need to lie down. Derek understood, helping him over. Stiles let out a exhale of relief when he was in a horizontal position.

 

“Can I?” Derek asked Stiles, kneeling beside the bed, but he was already lifting up Stiles’s top before he received a reply.

 

Stiles thought Derek was undressing him, getting ready to fuck him. He closed his eyes starting to get excited, but Derek just traced his fingers along Stiles’s bandage and peeled it back to take a peek. He brushed a finger across the stitches and instead of feeling the sharp sting of pain that was anticipated Stiles swears it actually lessened, until it dimmed into a faint ache.

 

“Its not reopened.” Derek said, licking his lips and Stiles celebrated internally because-

 

“Does this mean we can get back to, you know.” Stiles gestured to them both and Derek laughed. He actually laughed at Stiles! And if it wasn‘t such a beautiful carefree sound, that lit up his face like a freaking angelic god made of sunshine and rainbows, then Stiles would have been affronted.

 

“I don’t think we should risk that.” Derek teased, cocking his eyebrow and Stiles shuddered.

 

“You know, every time you do that thing with your eyebrow,” Derek cocked it again, curious, and Stiles whined, “ugh, its not the only thing that twitches in this vicinity.”

 

“Stiles.” Derek half groaned and half chuckled, and he went to get up.

 

“Hey,” Stiles objected grabbing his arm, because hey, now he knew Derek cared all the cards were off the table. “You can’t leave, what if I get a fever?”

 

Derek cocked his eyebrow again, and Stiles fucking knew he was doing it on purpose now. Stiles should have never revealed his kryptonite. Derek stood up leaving Stiles confused for a moment, but he just reached into his bunk and pulled down his pillow and a book. He slipped onto Stiles’s bed gently so as not to make it move and Stiles sank into him as he threw a pillow behind his head and opened his book.

 

Stiles was tempted to caress Derek’s body, now that he knew Derek wanted him to. He longed to feel the softness under his fingers, imagined tracing Derek's ridiculous abs and stroking a finger along the dark hair of his treasure trail and down to his… Derek shifted moving Stiles’s hand away from where it had been resting on his chest. What was he? A mind reader?

 

Stiles settled for smoothing Derek’s fore-arm, playing with the dark hair twisting it around his fingers. It felt good. He felt good. He could hear Derek’s heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, and even with the earlier coffee consumption it began to lull him to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY KISSED.  
> FINALLY.  
> UGH took you peanut-heads long enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What were they like? Your family.” Stiles asked, Derek sighed. “Please,” Stiles begged. “Just, I need a distraction.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my parents are taking me away for the weekend, back to uni so I may not be able to update until monday which is why I HAVE PACKED AS MANY FEELS I CAN IN HERE FOR YOU. 
> 
> HAVE SOME STEREK FEELS.  
> SOME PETER FEELS.  
> SOME SCISAAC FEELS.  
> ALL THE FUCKING FEELS. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, most of you are starting to cotton on to the wolf goodness. Heh heh heh.  
> I wonder when Stiles will... ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'd  
> because its 3am and I am supposed to be up in 5 hours to cycle for 15 miles then go skating so YOU CAN JUST ACCEPT MY MISTAKES LIKE MY LEGS WILL ACCEPT PAIN. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I think the next chapter is the sexy times chapter you'll all be glad to know!

 

 

Stiles awoke with fresh eyes the next morning, as though from a dream. Well, he technically had just woken from a dream (a rather bizarre one, involving a talking wolf with glowing red eyes, thank you very much), but being under the influence of painkillers and such had put a kind of hazy fog over the past few days.

 

This was why when he awoke he was rather shocked to find himself curled around a mass-murderer. Derek stirred as if sensing Stiles had awoken, and Stiles freakin' panicked.

 

Oh god, he had made out with a man who murdered an entire family, _his own family_. The last person he was involved with had been hunted down and killed.. by him! AND STILES HAD BEEN ACTING ALL CUTESY WITH HIM AND ASKING HIM TO CUDDLE AND-

 

“Stiles?“ Derek asked, voice thick with sleep (which would have been adorable yesterday). “Are you okay?” His stupid rainbow eyes were shadowed by concerned brows. His arm was draped around Stiles’s shoulders and a thumb was stroking him in what was _probably_ supposed to be a comforting manner but all Stiles could think was ‘that hand has murdered people’.

 

“Uh, yeah… I’m fine.” Stiles shook his head, as though that would shake the morbid thoughts out of it, no such luck. “I um… just feel really hot… do you mind moving?” He shifted out of Derek’s hold awkwardly.

 

“Right.” Derek’s voice was curt, as though he knew Stiles was lying. Which was practically impossible. Stiles was an _excellent_ liar, he’d grown up having to fool his cop father for gods sake. Derek picked up his pillow and slid gracefully off the bed before climbing into his bunk.

 

Stiles sunk into his lumpy pillow and tried to breathe normally again. He didn’t know what was happening. He was _so_ confused. Apparently Derek liked him, and not just in the ‘I’m sexually frustrated and need a warm hole to fuck’ kind of way. He actually _cared_ for him. Stiles didn’t know what to do, because yes Derek was hot and fuckable and everything, but underneath all that jazz Stiles still liked _him_. Derek had this dry wit that was funny, he was quietly clever and seemed to have a good heart… which was just _completely_ stupid because people with good hearts don’t tend to go around killing their families. Stiles didn’t know what to think, it was all so fucked up.

 

“You know, Stiles.” Derek's voice interrupted Stiles’s mental freak-out. “Not all the stories you hear in here are true.” There was a pause as though Derek expected a reply, but for once Stiles was going to stay uncharacteristically quiet. Derek let out a frustrated snort before continuing. “You should hear some of the stories circulating about you.”

 

That caught Stiles off guard.

 

“Me? Like what?” Stiles squeaked.

 

“Well. Like how you shot your father, the sheriff, because he tried to shield the guy you shot. Or that the man you shot was your brother, or your drug dealer, or your school teacher who you were sleeping with… and in some versions all three.”

 

“What?! That's ridiculous!” Stiles squawked to the bed rungs above his head. “None of that is true!”

 

“That’s my point.” Derek snapped, his head peering over the side of his bed. “In here its like a game of Chinese whispers, eventually your story turns into fiction. But I didn’t care, that’s why I never asked.” Stiles could see his nostrils flaring, “I didn’t care if any of that was true Stiles, because I would like you in spite of it. Its just a shame you don’t feel the same.”

 

“I- but-” Stiles stuttered. This was a lot to take in. “I _do_ like you, and do- all of that." He flailed his arms to emphasise his point, "But… Derek, there are some things that you can’t overlook if they’re true.”

 

“What? That I murdered my family?” Derek spat. “Because that’s lie.”

 

“Really?” Stiles exhaled because, crap. What if he had really been that naïve, to believe all the stories he’d heard, not knowing how many lips they had let warp them into lies. What if he had just fucked over something that could have been _something_. “And your girlfriend? Did you, you know… kill her?” He hesitated, because just couldn’t help himself, he’d already dug a hole, may as well throw himself in it.

 

“No... not technically.” And Stiles’s heart was racing. “I just helped my uncle Peter do it.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles said, because he didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to say to that. Sorry? There was another long silence before Derek broke it again.

 

“Remember when I said that some people had good reasons Stiles?”

 

“… Yeah.”

 

“Well, she killed them… She killed my family.”

 

\--- 

 

Breakfast was incredibly awkward for Stiles. He still didn’t know how to react to the fact that he has been completely wrong about Derek. He isn’t sharing a cell with a mass-murderer, not even a murderer. Technically Stiles has killed more people than Derek. But then again, Derek had helped plan a murder. Was that worse? Stiles’s moral compass was spinning.

 

He looked over to the Argent table, as was becoming habit, and wait… Stiles could have sworn they’d had 13 people in their gang, not 12. No, they did, because for the first week Stiles had called them Gerard’s disciples. Had one been let out on parole? He turned to raise the question to his table but they were too busy being awkward. 

 

Not one of them helped break the tension on the table, in fact they all seemed to add their own. Danny and Jackson looked like they had been bickering, the withdrawal reaching its peak, and Scott and Isaac looked like their world was falling apart. It wasn’t until they were walking back to their cells that Stiles found out why.

 

“Isaac is switching cells again.” Scott whispered.

 

“What?” Stiles stopped in his tracks, not even caring that it caused a fat guy to crash into his back with an angry grunt.

 

“Back to Matt.” Scott glanced ahead to where Isaac had just reached their cell. He was obviously agitated, flinching at every sound. Stiles couldn’t blame the boy.

 

“They can’t DO that!” Stiles shouted, not even caring if people heard him. “They know what happened last time. How could this happen?”

 

“Harris.” Scott spat, “And the fucking Argents. And Matt knows, and I‘m going to have t-to watch wh-… and not be able to help..” his voice cracked.

 

Stiles gawped trying to think of a way to possibly comfort Scott, who’s eyes had began to water, but it didn’t matter, he’d already stormed off to his cell. To Isaac.

 

\---

 

 

At dinner the main reason for the sudden cell re-arrangement because obvious when Peter Hale sauntered into the cafeteria. The tension was evident immediately, the Argent gang rose from their table, as did Derek from next to Stiles.

 

Jackson and Danny fell silent mid-squabble looking like they wanted to clamber under the table, and Scott slid his hand into Isaac’s giving it a squeeze.

 

Peter however, looked as relaxed as ever. He just strolled over to the food line and grabbed a bowl of stoup (Stiles wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be stew or soup) before casually attempting to walk straight passed the Argent table.

 

The Argents however were not having any of it. Stiles looked up at Derek when Chris stood and blocked Peter’s path. Derek was standing weirdly, poised like a cobra ready to strike, and what Stiles thought was a broken radiator rumbling seemed to actually be coming from Derek. What the fuck? 

 

Stiles was frozen. He didn’t know if touching Derek would calm him down or rile him up even more, he didn’t know where they stood after last night. He hadn’t even been able to take a shower today because he still couldn’t do it on his own and he’d not been able to ask Derek for help.

 

By the time Stiles’d mentally weighed the pro’s and con’s of the matter however, Peter had sidestepped Chris, saying something Stiles couldn’t hear (but it obviously wasn’t Argent-friendly) and was making his way towards their table. As he approached Peter's his eyes scanned each of them in turn. He smiled wryly when it was Stiles’s turn to be eye-probed, and he swear Derek made his weird, wet-sounding rasp. He didn’t sit down at least until Peter had reached the table and taken the seat opposite him.

 

“Relax, Derek.” Peter drawled. He tilted his head back like he had a crick, and for some reason this or whatever he said seemed to soothe Derek. Maybe it was a family thing? “I see your doing quite well for yourself, quite some potential here.” Peter’s eyes landed on Stiles again, and Stiles felt like he was being recruited into a gang.

 

“It wasn’t my intention to have a pack of teenagers to protect.” Derek scowled into his food. Peter smirked, like Derek had said something funny, and Stiles just gave up trying to understand this man.

 

He seemed to find the tables’ refusal to look at him highly amusing. As everyone was stacking their empty trays he asked,

 

“So, which one of you is Scott McCall?” Scott visibly gulped, before raising a finger like a fucking kindergartener. “Ah, you will have to forgive me, its been a while since I have had a double cell. I’m used to solitude.”

 

“Uh, Okay.” Scott mumbled before flicking his eyes to Isaac.

 

“And Isaac, right?” He looked towards the youngest boy who’s eyes were as wide as saucepans. “I apologise for the inconvenience this causes you, I honestly would happily bunk with Matt, but Hales and Argents are a bit of a… fiery combination.” Stiles felt a sharp puff of air in his ear and looked up to see Derek, looming over him, and glaring at his uncle.

 

Peter looked at Derek and put his palms up in surrender, still smirking, before nonchalantly walking out to his new cell. There was yet another awkward moment where everyone else was just frozen in the doorway. Jackson was the first to sigh and storm out in true Jackson fashion, Danny following suit.

 

Stiles knew he was going to have to talk to Derek eventually, their time in the cell earlier had been excruciating with them both silently reading books in their own beds. He debated whether to go and shower to buy more time, but he should probably wait until he gets his stitches out tomorrow and can wash properly. His mind drifted back to Derek washing his hair in the shower, how he had been so careful, and it suddenly occurred to him that the nit-check may actually have just been Derek wanting to touch him, to run his fingers through his hair, and that realisation made him feel kind of… fuzzy.

 

“Derek.” Stiles said as soon as the bars had trapped them in their cell. Derek swung around.

 

“Don’t.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… don’t apologise.”

 

“But I am… I am sorry. I was naïve and stupid, and I’m sorry but I wasn’t planning on killing someone and getting sent here, if I was I would have read a prison survival manual or something. I should have known not to believe everything but come on you don‘t exactly look like a fucking angel,” Stiles’s voice started to rise, “and I know I am judgemental, like just then, but _fuck_. Is it so bad that I want to forget that I'm just like the pieces of shit that are in here? I feel helpless enough without being degraded to the breeds of monsters like fucking Matt.” Stiles's voice cracked, eyes were tearing up but he didn’t even care, “I can’t cope Derek. I can’t its too… I mean, I tried being the decent fucking guy and look where that got me. I promised to look after Isaac and now look where he is,” The tears were flowing freely now and he was starting to make strangled rasping noises. “with fucking Matt! And I can’t do anything because of this fucking gate! THIS FUCKING GATE!”

 

He pounded his fist on the bars, not caring about the sharp pain that shot through his hand. He rattled the bars, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything. He kept rattling, kicking the gate until he let out a choked sob, body slumping, his forehead hit the cold bars in defeat.

 

“Stiles.” Derek, who had been silent and still through the entire rant, stepped forward, his voice was gentle. Stiles just let out another sob in response. He felt the warm hand on his shoulder tugging him around to face Derek. “I won’t say its going to be okay, because its not… and I don’t know it its going to be.” His hand moved from Stiles’s shoulder to cup his face, thumb tracing a tear-track.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’m a horrible person, I’m so sorry.” Stiles mumbled through his tears, leaning into the hand.

 

“Shh. Don’t be. There’s nothing to apologise for.” Derek soothed, “You have to be strong Stiles. In here…” He pressed his forehead against Stiles’s as he closed his eyes and sniffed. “We have to stay strong.”

 

Stiles tilted his head up slightly, nose skimming Derek’s. He could feel Derek's breath tickling his lips and it somehow felt comforting. Derek lifted his other hand to cup Stiles’s other cheek and guided Stiles’s mouth to his. Their lips had just grazed, when Scott’s yells rang through the corridor.

 

“MATT, YOU MOTHER FUCKER! YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HIM. I AM GOING TO RIP YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF YOU FUCKING SON OF A FUCKING MOTHER-FUCKING LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU FUCKER. I WILL KILL YOU.”

 

Stiles listened for Isaac’s screams, but he didn’t scream this time. The sound was more stifled, choked cries, and Stiles didn’t even want to know how Matt was muffling Isaac’s voice.

 

He could hear Scott gulping back sobs and talking to Isaac. “I’m here baby… Isaac just look at me, you're fine." The despair seemed to ring through the corridor. Jackson and Danny were huddled together, all their blankets, pillows and sheets piled on their heads to block out reality.

 

Stiles turned back to Derek. His breathing had become rapid and he knew what was coming. He pushed Derek out of the way, ignoring his look of alarm at Stiles’s state. Stiles collapsed on his bunk, cupping his hands over his mouth and staring at the grubby mirror.

 

Inhale; 1...2...3 Exhale; 1...2...3 Inhale; 1...2...3 Exhale; 1...2...3 His eyes followed the frame of the mirror. Inhaling and exhaling into his hands, as his gaze trailed each edge, like his childhood therapist had taught him to.

 

Somewhere in the middle of this Derek had joined him on the bed. Thigh pressed warmly against Stiles’s.

 

“Sorry.” Stiles said, breathing calmer now. “Mild panic attack.”

 

“Yeah, my mother used to get them.” Derek leaned his chin on Stiles’s shoulder, nose buried in his neck, and they just sat there for a moment, trying to ignore Scott’s sobs.

 

“What were they like? Your family.” Stiles asked, Derek sighed. “Please,” Stiles begged. “Just, I need a distraction.”

 

Derek sighed again and lay down on Stiles’s bed, pulling Stiles down onto his chest. Stiles shifted until he was comfortably wedged between Derek's left bicep and chest. Derek curled his left hand up and threaded it into Stiles’s hair, stubby nails scratching his scalp.

 

“Hmm lets see. Well I had my mother and my father, they met as children. Peter actually introduced them you know. He was my mother’s twin brother. My father and him became best friends during a special summer camp my grandfather sent him to when he was 11. My dad used to stay with them every summer after that, but the summer they were all 18 my dad came to stay Peter wasn’t there. He had gone backpacking in Australia to ‘find himself‘,” Derek snorted as if it was a joke, “its where he met his wife Marianna, and had he forgotten to tell my dad he‘d gone. My father instead spent the whole summer with my mother, and within 3 years they were married.”

 

Stiles shut his eyes trying to imagine Peter being young, happy, sane and married. It wasn’t easy.

 

“My parents, moved into my grandfather’s old house with Peter and his wife… My sister Laura was the first born. I came a year and a half after. My younger sister Cora was three years younger.” Derek cleared his throat, “Peter had his first child, Melody, when I was six. My youngest sibling George was the same age. Isaac reminds me a lot of him, he had the same innocence about him. Peter also had twin girls, four years after my brother, Claudia and Isabella.”

 

“I can’t imagine Peter having children.” Stiles whispered truthfully. Derek huffed slightly.

 

“It may not seem it now, but he was a great father. He doted on his wife and daughters, they were his world.” His voice had become distant as though he was talking to someone else as well as Stiles, “When I was fourteen he and Marianna adopted a baby called Marcus… me and Laura used to baby-sit all the time. We were close. Laura and I owned a house just outside of Beacon Hills, in the forest. We were the only ones not in the fire.”

 

“And Peter.” Stiles interrupted, to show he was listening.

 

“Oh, no. Peter was in the fire.” Derek corrected, voice dark. “He was locked in the basement with everyone else. The only survivor.”

 

“Oh.” Well, if that wasn’t a distraction Stiles didn’t know what else was. He couldn’t describe how, but everything made a little more sense now. Derek stayed silent until a muffled sob from the corridor made Stiles tense up.

 

“When I was sixteen I started dating this girl. Kate Argent.” Derek said suddenly. “She was wild and beautiful, and quite a bit older. I had been dating her for a month and thought I was in love.” He lifted up his right hand and rubbed his face tiredly. “I was stupid to trust her, to not see her for what she was and- well long story short she set the fire.”

 

“Yeah.” Stiles said, because he knew that part, but he hadn’t known how young Derek had been.

 

“Yeah.” Derek breathed. “’Over the next two years 7 men went missing, then they’d turn up dead a week later.”

 

“I think I remember by dad talking about that case.” Stiles recalled, “He called the killer ’The Beacon Butcher.’”

 

“Yeah.“ One night we went to visit Peter in hospital, and he wasn’t there. We thought he had gone missing like them. Me and Laura went searching for him.”

 

“He was the butcher wasn’t he?” Stiles could see where this was going, he was after all a detective’s son.

 

“He was. We found him hunting a man, one of the arsonists that had helped Kate. He then told us about Kate’s involvement, the mastermind. He‘d been tracking her for years but she‘d always somehow managed to slip through his fingers. So me and Laura decided to help.” Derek sighed and pursed his lips together. “It all fucked up. The plan was for me to be bait and lure Kate in, so Laura and Peter could kill her. But she’d set her own trap for me. Peter and Laura should have gone, just left, but they wouldn’t leave me.” his voice was tight now, “Kate killed Laura. Peter killed Kate. The police showed up. Here I am.”

 

“At least you’re not alone, you have Peter.“ Stiles whispered. He wanted to add ’ _and me_ ’ but didn’t know if he could. Instead he curled up into Derek’s side, moving the hand in his hair to cover his ear, blocking out Scott, and hoped that it would be enough to convey everything.

 

"Yeah." Derek whispered back, resting his chin on the top of Stiles's head. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ALL for the lovely comments.  
> I love you ALL.  
> Also if you have any questions about the story I WILL answer as long as it wont give away spoilers (if I dont answer it means it does, I'm not being rude, just MYSTERIOUS).  
> AND as always, feel free to point out any mistakes so I can fix them and make your reading more enjoyable. 
> 
> Thank you!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know, my stitches are off.” Stiles hinted, taking a step towards Derek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its still monday somewhere... right? 
> 
> I literally finished my assignments at 2am and its now 3:30am, so I think time-wise I ain't doing too badly ;) 
> 
> Uhm I have an exam on thursday, so probably won't update again until friday/saturday, but the good news is after my exam I have like a whole week off :D 
> 
> Aaaanyway, as promised, feels and sexy times.

 

Stiles was awoken at around 4am by a very chipper Erica rattling on his bars. 

 

“Stitches time Stilinski.” She sang, a smug grin on her face. Stiles groaned slipping out of Derek’s arms, struggling a bit when Derek‘s arms tried to pull him back in.  “You did well there.” Erica nodded towards Derek’s half-sleeping form as she opened the bars. Stiles ignored her, he was not in the mood to be teased. As he stepped in the corridor he noticed Boyd opening Isaac and Matt’s cell. 

 

Stiles silently willed Erica to lead him past them quickly so he could see Isaac, and the gods must be with him (well no they weren’t otherwise Isaac wouldn’t be here) because Erica came to an abrupt stop outside the cell. Isaac hobbled out of the cell and Stiles hurried over to tuck himself under they boy’s armpit for support, protocol be damned. Erica and Boyd just let him. Boyd was visibly glaring at Matt who was smiling back from his top bunk, splayed on his stomach, head on his hands, looking very pleased with himself. It took all Stiles had not to jump on him him right then and there, but Isaac was leaning on him, and he was surrounded by guards. Although, he had a feeling that Erica and Boyd would allow him to get a few good punches in before restraining him. 

 

Leaving the cell Stiles could see Scott passed out on the floor of his cell, head resting on the rusted metal bars, eyebrows knotted together. Isaac never took his eyes off him as he was led away. 

 

“I’m okay.” Isaac said, once they were down the corridor, “Honest. I don’t think anything is broken, just bruised.” 

 

Deaton confirmed this when he was removing Stiles’s stitches. Isaac and Stiles were both discharged within two hours. They headed straight to the showers where Isaac had said he was meeting Scott before breakfast. 

 

Scott was standing awkwardly next to Pervy Paul waiting for Isaac. He looked like he was going to throw up with relief when he saw the younger boy. 

 

“I’m okay.” Isaac said again when Scott reached out a finger to trace the bruise on his cheekbone. Stiles wandered over to the showers to give them a moment. Without his stitches it was much easier to wash. It was strange, he swears that it should hurt more, but it just didn’t. He’d stripped and was just lathering up when he felt someone standing behind him. He turned and expected to see Derek, but instead, standing full-frontal behind him, was Peter. 

 

“Did you enjoy your little story time last night?” Peter asked tilting his head. Stiles’s heart beat a little harder, had Derek told him? Stiles tipped his head under the spray of water washing away the soap, trying to act like he wasn’t about to shit himself. Peter leaned against the wall next to Stiles. “Despite popular belief, I’m not a _complete_ psycho, Stiles.” He smiled, “I admit. Watching your family burn to death; hearing your children’s screams, smelling your wife’s burning flesh, whilst you are chained up and helpless to save them does change a man. But I’m not a merciless monster.” 

 

Stiles gulped, his knees shaking a bit. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Chained up? What the fuck? Luckily Peter seemed to get distracted by something the other side of the changing room. Stiles followed his gaze, and he was staring at Scott and Isaac. Isaac was sitting on a bench and Scott was kneeling between his legs, hands on his knees, forehead against his. They seemed to be in deep conversation. 

 

Stiles slipped out of the shower, away from Peter, and inched towards the two of them. Scott looked up and beckoned him over, he looked like he was about to throw up. 

 

“Dude-” Stiles began, but Scott just shook his head indicating for him to be quiet. 

 

“Stiles.” His voice was shaking. “We need to do something. I was thinking all night.” He glanced over shiftily to Pervy Paul, the only other person other than Peter in the room. 

 

“One sec.” Stiles said, and he walked over to Pervy Paul. He squared his shoulders and lowered his head and doing his best Derek imitation. “Get out.” He snarled, his voice about three octaves lower than usual. It had the desired effect, the podgy man took one last glance at Stiles’s naked body before scuttling out. 

 

Stiles returned to Scott and Isaac, gesturing for him to continue as he pulled on his sweatpants. Scott gulped.

 

“I was thinking all night, about how to get Isaac out. Now.” He frowned, “I asked to see Finstock. He isn’t here. He left _Harris_ in charge of all the fucking people. Harris won’t move him.” 

 

“Start a fight, get put in the hole.” Stiles suggested, but Scott shook his head. 

 

“Harris won’t do it, I bet you. He’ll just confine him to their cell. There’s only one option.” His voice was shaking, his eyes were welling up, and he was gripping so tightly to Isaac’s leg. “We have to hospitalise him.” 

 

“Shh.” Isaac soothed, putting his hand under Scott’s chin and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. “I want this, no amount of broken bones can be worse than another night of Matt.” Stiles let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding in. 

 

“You want us to break Isaac’s bones?” He wasn’t sure if he was hearing this correctly. 

 

“My arm.” Isaac nodded, “My arm would be easiest.” 

 

“N-now?!” Stiles frowned incredulously. Scott and Isaac nodded. 

 

“I’m going to need to you hold him down.” Scott said. 

 

“What?! This is crazy!” Stiles flailed his arms trying to emphasise the absurdity of the idea. 

 

“Please Stiles.” Whispered Isaac, his eyes doing that fucking puss-in-boots thing that just made it impossible to deny anything he asked, even something this sick and twisted. Stiles huffed, pursing his lips. 

 

“Fine, but just so you know, I don’t agree with it.” 

 

“Okay… okay.” Scott stood up, shaking his limbs as though preparing for a race. “Pin him down.” 

 

Stiles shook his head but pulled Isaac back so he was leant over the bench, left arm stretched over the end so Scott could snap it. Stiles draped his body over the boy, his weight pinning him down. Scott shook his hands, breathing in deeply before gripping Isaac’s wrist. He shut his eyes, then;

 

“I can’t do it. Oh my god. I can’t. I’m so sorry.” Scott backed away freaking out. “I just can’t I physically… No I can.. No I can’t. I can’t.” He had gone completely white, and looked like he was about to pass out. 

 

“Scott.” They all jumped at the voice behind them. “My offer still stands.” Peter said, and Stiles hadn’t even been aware of him leaving the shower and getting dressed, but there he stood, hair freshly towel dried, doing the same effortlessly tousled thing Derek’s did, and looking at Scott, eyebrow raised in question. 

 

“Do it.” Scott nodded, and Peter turned to Isaac who also nodded. He bent down on one knee to look him in the eye and explained calmly. 

 

“I’m going to break your elbow Isaac." Peter's voice was soothing, which only freaked Stiles out more. He wondered if this was how Peter had spoken to his children? To a younger Derek? "I’ll create a radial head fracture so you’ll have to be transported to the local hospital for an X-ray and splint, they can’t do that here. If all goes to plan you shall be out of this block for a week, in time for Finstock to get back, and your arm should be healed within two.” 

 

“What?” Stiles objected, “Radial fractures take at least four weeks to heal!” Peter turned to him.

 

“Trust me Stiles, he will heal in two. Sooner maybe if all goes to plan.” He turned back to Isaac. “Ready?” 

 

Isaac swallowed nervously but nodded. Scott fell to his knees cupping Isaac’s face in his hands. 

 

“It’ll be okay. Just keep looking at me, okay? Just be with me.” Isaac gave Scott a small smile. 

 

“I’ve had many bones broken before Scott. I’m fine… Do it.” He said to Peter. 

 

Peter nodded and moved his fingers along Isaac’s elbow, feeling for the joint. He looked thoughtful for a second, before he lifted the arm up and- 

 

“AHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHH” Isaac’s scream echoed through the room. Stiles was speechless, Peter didn’t even use the bench to break the bone, he just snapped it with his bare hands. And no count down? Who _does_ that?! 

 

“Oh my god oh my god oh holy shitting god.” Scott was leaning over Isaac who was now splayed on the floor holding his awkwardly bent arm, face scrunched in pain. “Baby just breath, just breath okay.” Scott had his hands on Isaac’s cheeks again and was placing fevered kisses all over his face. 

 

“I’ll go get the guard.” Peter said coolly, and left. About two seconds later Derek all but ran in. 

 

“Where is Peter?!” He practically snarled. No, he _did_ snarl. He put Stiles’s earlier snarl to shame. 

 

“Uh-um he went to get the guard.” Stiles stammered. Derek’s nostrils flared in response and he looked down at Isaac still getting smothered by Scott. “But its not what it looks like!” 

 

“No.” Isaac hissed. “I asked him to do it.” 

 

“Fucking idiots.” Derek muttered, and then, “Move.” to Scott. 

 

When Scott ignored him he shoved him out of the way with such force that Scott almost hit the wall. Derek then pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his wrists before placing a hand on Isaac’s broken arm. Stiles couldn’t see what he was doing, but whatever it was made Isaac’s noises subside from yelps of agony into soft whimpers of pain. Just then Boyd and another guard walked in with Peter, and Isaac was swiftly taken away. 

 

Derek stood up and glared at Peter who raised his hands. 

 

“I was only trying to help, Derek. You obviously weren’t going to… No need to _bite_ my head off.” 

 

“Enough with your games Peter.” He snapped, and Stiles _swore_ his eyes flashed, red. He wasn’t imagining it this time. 

 

“Fine, I’m going to breakfast.” Peter started to walk out and then paused, turning to Derek with a smirk, “My stomach is positively _growling._ Come on Scott, we have a lot to discuss.” 

 

“Uh,” Stiles watched Scott scuttle out after Peter, before carefully approaching Derek. “If its any consolation I was against it too.” Derek took a deep exhale, composing himself before facing Stiles, his expression thankfully less angry. 

 

“I’m not mad at you Stiles.” He assured him, stepping forward and bringing a hand up to stroke the back of Stiles’s neck. It was a strangely affectionate and protective gesture that made Stiles’s heart leap a little. “It was just a stupid thing to do, there were other options…” 

 

“What other options?” Stiles asked, “We honestly tried to think of something else, but with Harris in charge-”

 

“It doesn’t matter now does it.” Derek interrupted, rubbing his thumb across the nape of Stiles‘s neck. “Come on, before we miss breakfast.” 

 

\--- 

 

Breakfast was a silent and tense meal so Stiles was glad of its brevity. He knew what with Isaac’s hospitalisation and all the hell that was going on around them he should have plenty of drama to distract him, but when he was locked up and alone with Derek, it was hard not to think about any thing other than how fucking hot he was. 

 

“You know, my stitches are off.” Stiles hinted, taking a step towards Derek. 

 

“I know.” Stiles couldn’t figure out if Derek was being a tease or Stiles was just not being obvious enough. He was about to embellish his hint when Derek asked, “Does it still hurt?” and swiftly dropped to his knees, gently lifting up Stiles’s shirt. 

 

“No.” Stiles swallowed as he looked down at Derek who was looking back up at him, his hand drifting across Stiles’s stomach.

 

“Good.” Derek whispered, his lips twitching upwards before pressing a soft kiss onto the puckered scar. Stiles’s breath hitched as Derek kissed his side again, his lips slowly travelling to his hip, then to his navel, leaving a trail of gentle kisses. His mouth opened, puffing a warm breath into Stiles’s belly button, tongue darting out to lick it. 

 

Stiles let out a shuddering exhalation as Derek started placing slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses on his torso, tugging at Stiles’s shirt as he moved up. When his tongue finally reached Stiles’s left nipple he made a indignant huff and stood up fully to wrench Stiles’s shirt over his head. 

 

Stiles knees were shaking, but he was literally unable to move. He was so fucking turned on. He was extremely grateful when Derek relieved his trembling thighs by placing his hands firmly underneath them and wrapping them around his body. Stiles gasped in a mixture of surprise and arousal, and gripped onto Derek’s shoulders, crossing his ankles behind Derek's back and moaning slightly when his hands palmed at his ass. 

 

Derek’s mouth dragged along his collar bone to base of his throat, his nose nuzzling into his neck as he licked at the skin there.  

 

“Fuck.” Stiles moaned as he bucked his hips, his cock rubbing against Derek’s. Stiles was so fucking hard, and apparently Derek was just as far gone. Derek groaned, and Stiles found himself being pushed up against the wall of the cell, not even caring when his head collided with the mirror. Derek was rutting against him almost feverishly and it suddenly occurred to Stiles that he had been so paralysed with arousal that he wasn’t really reciprocating in the sexy times very well. 

 

Stiles pulled Derek’s mouth up from his throat and connected it with his own lips, sucking his tongue into his mouth until Derek let out a deeper groan. Stiles’s stomach was in knots and he felt almost sick with all his pent up sexual frustration bubbling to the surface. Derek was rolling his hips so his hard cock met Stiles’s in rhythmic motions, perfect motions that left Stiles gasping and clawing at Derek's shoulders desperately. Stiles really didn’t want to be the first to come so he dipped his hand into Derek’s waist-band and gripped his cock. Derek’s legs shook with the contact and his hands slackened, Stiles was sure he would have fallen if Derek’s body wasn’t pressing him against the wall so firmly. 

 

Stiles could feel Derek’s abs flexing against his arm as he glided his hand up and down Derek's erection. The heat of Derek's cock bled into Stiles's palm and Stiles couldn't help but imagine how good it would feel in his mouth, in his ass. Derek groaned again when Stiles detached himself from Derek’s mouth with a last scrape of teeth along his bottom lip, and nipped a path down his chin, along jaw, before latching onto his earlobe. Derek growled and rutted against Stiles’s even harder as Stiles lapped at the erogenous zone, still working his cock. Both their breaths were coming out in hard pants and Stiles clenched his thighs around Derek harder, trying to get more friction as he rubbed up against him. Stiles’s hand movements were getting sloppy now as he became so close to coming, Derek felt way too good, and he drew his mouth back from Derek’s. 

 

“Let me-” Stiles gasped out, pulling at Derek’s hands in indication to be dropped. Derek let go dumbly and just watched, still panting open-mouthed, as Stiles pushed Derek so his back was against the wall and knelt down in front of him. Stiles didn’t hesitate in yanking Derek’s sweatpants down, letting his cock spring free. He looked up at Derek whose eye’s were still on him, eyebrows knitted together, mouth parted, looking wrecked. Stiles stroked hands up Derek’s thighs watching them tremor as he reached the V of Derek’s hips, fingers ghosting over them, exploring. 

 

“Stiles.” Derek half-growled, half-begged, and Stiles leaned in and engulfed Derek’s cock in his mouth. He flattened his tongue against Derek’s shaft, and bobbed his head up and down creating a light suction. He continued exploring Derek’s body with his hands, fingernails scraping along coarse hair trailing up to his navel, feeling Derek’s abs tensing and relaxing as he worked his mouth around him. 

 

Stiles reached one hand down to palm at his own crotch, as he took Derek’s cock deeper into his throat and moaned, making his throat vibrate. Derek, who had seemed to be resisting the urge to grab Stiles’s head, now twisted his fingers in his hair and tugged lightly as soft pants escaped his lips. Stiles moved his hands around to Derek’s ass, and gripped his firm cheeks, pulling Derek forward in encouragement, as he swallowed around his cock. Stiles glanced up when he heard a loud cracking thump, and saw Derek had thrown his head back against the wall as he began to rock into Stiles’s mouth in a frenzied way, hips rolling slightly as he lip his bottom lip. Stiles almost choked because  _holy fucking Satan in hell_ Derek looked so _hot_ like that. 

 

Stiles couldn’t stop himself reaching a hand back down, and into his pants, stroking himself, he was so _so_ close. It suddenly occurred to him that his hand had just been on Derek’s cock moments before and the pre-come was mixing with his and-Derek’s body convulsed as he came long and hard down Stiles’s throat with a drawn-out groan, and Stiles didn’t even care that he hadn’t been given a warning, he just kept swallowing until the cock in his mouth had stopped twitching. 

 

Derek withdrew from his mouth, and then sank down onto his knees in front of Stiles who was still stroking himself desperately. Derek leaned in and licked into Stiles’s mouth, pushing his own hand down to replace Stiles’s and _god_ Stiles was never going to be able to get himself off again now he knew what it felt like to have Derek’s hand on his dick. Stiles was coming in seconds, short shuddering spurts all over Derek’s hand. Derek continued licking into Stiles’s mouth as though trying to lick through the taste of his come and reach the taste of Stiles. Derek rubbed his come-slick hand over Stiles’s balls and behind to his- _oh_. Stiles kissed back eagerly as Derek ran a finger over his asshole, and Stiles sucked Derek’s lower lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth on it as he pulled back panting. 

 

“Dude, I think I’m going to need a while to recover before round two.” Stiles chuckled, and Derek smirked, drawing his hand out of Stiles’s now-damp sweatpants and ruffling his hair affectionately. “Ughh gross!” Stiles protested, “Its in my hair! I suck you off and that is the thanks I get.” Derek grinned in what could only be described as a mischievous manner. 

 

“No. You’ll get your thanks later.” Derek kissed Stiles's chin and Stiles’s stomach somersaulted. Oh god, he could not just say things like that. 

 

Derek Stood up, pulling Stiles up with him and wiped what hadn’t been smeared in Stiles’s hair from his hand onto his sweatpants. He leapt onto Stiles’s bunk and opened his arms in invitation, Stiles looked down at his soggy pants with a grimace but decided that they'd probably dry before the lunch buzzer. As he was settling into Derek’s arms he glanced into Danny and Jackson’s cell, suddenly remembering their existence. He caught them still staring from their top bunk, Jackson's mouth was ajar and Danny was biting down on Jackson's knuckles. Stiles flipped them off, before sinking down onto Derek’s chest, amused as he watched them scuttle back into the shadows. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I've never had gay-guy sex because I lack a penis and all that jazz, so I'm just rolling of my non peen-on-peen sexual endeavours and u know porn stuff. Hopefully its okay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He uh, wants to… bite me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my assignments and exams are over!  
> And its snowing heavily so I will probably be trapped indoors for at least a couple of days. 
> 
> Today is only a short filler chapter because I have spent my time planning out the remainder of the fic (its gonna be awesooooome) and researching what prisoners use as lube (just ew) so I can write sexy buttbutt times. 
> 
> Also, how would you guys feel about one of the characters (not Stiles or Derek) kinda... maybe... dying...?  
> I'm just toying with the idea.

  
Lunch was sufficiently awkward with Jackson eyeballing Derek’s crotch every two seconds, and Danny practically drooling every time Stiles put his fork in his mouth. Stiles could see Derek’s brain trying to figure out which one to glare at, his jealousy seemed to win, and he chose Danny. Stiles might have found Derek's protectiveness cute except every time Jackson or Danny looked at Stiles it made Derek inch closer and closer until his body was pressed so firmly beside Stiles’s side through the meal that on a couple of occasions Stiles’s fork ended up being jostled up his nose instead of in his mouth.

 

Scott was acting really strange. This morning he sat by Peter out of choice which noone ever did, and he kept looking sideways at him. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was grateful for Peter ‘helping’ Isaac, or petrified of him for it. Peter looked his usual smug self, especially when Derek’s attention was on the baners for once instead of him. It made Stiles feel uneasy, he suspected Peter was planning something and that was not going to end well for anyone.

 

The deflect of attention was short-lived as, that afternoon, when the buzzer rang for rec time Derek stormed over to Peter and Scott’s cell and grabbed his uncle who was about to walk out.

 

“Go to the library Stiles, we’ll be there soon. I need to talk to my uncle.” Derek said. Scott pulled an ‘uh-oh’ face at Stiles before slipping out of the cell. Stiles followed.

 

They filed into the library, and Stiles deliberately sat next to Scott, avoiding the very suspiciously empty seat between Danny and Jackson (Jeez guys, it was only a blowjob how are they going to react when him and Derek actually fuck?), and poked him in the ribs.

 

“Dude, what the fuck is going on with you and Peter.”

 

“Uh, nothing.“ Scott shifted in his seat. Stiles just glared.

 

“You are so convincing. Have you ever thought of becoming an actor? I bet a tween drama would snap up your pretty little face.” Stiles deadpanned and Scott flushed, ducking his head.

 

“Okay okay, Stiles. I get it.” He shifted again, then leaned in so Jackson and Danny couldn’t hear. “I kind of made a deal with him.”

 

“Peter? Are you crazy? What kind?” Stiles hissed. “The sexual kind?”

 

“No!” Scott protested, but then his shoulders deflated, “I don’t know. Kind of?”

 

“Kind of?” Stiles asked.

 

“He uh, wants to… bite me.” Scott looked highly awkward, “I don’t know. He acts weird sometimes, like in his sleep he growls and twitches, like a dog.” Scott shuddered, “Maybe he’s attracted to animals, maybe it turns him on or something? It was kind of a shady deal, he’d… you know, with Isaac, in return for biting me.” he looked at Stiles’s grimace. “I said no at first remember! But well, having him bite me is better than having Matt be with Isaac.”

 

Stiles sighed, and turned his eyes towards the heavens. He knew Scott was stupid, but seriously this was just _stupid_.

 

“Well you do kind of give off the lost puppy vibe.” Stiles said finally.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Period dramas, okay. I like period dramas.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is mostly what-what-in-the-butt stuff 
> 
> I did some research on this, watched some gay porn, and discounted nearly all of it, because wow is that not realistic they don't even prep on-screen!

Derek turned up in the library, minus Peter, looking annoyed. Stiles knew better than to enquire why. He stayed silent and stoic all through dinner, only communicating to people (well, Peter) through various glares. Peter kept his smug amused expression firmly on his face as Scott sat beside him, looking antsy.

 

Stiles was the first to reach their cell, and he stopped so abruptly that Derek almost bumped into him.

 

“Uh, did you?” Stiles asked pointing to his pillow, where a white tub with a brown paper makeshift bow was on top. Derek sniffed, his mood hadn’t improved at all.

 

“No.” He went over and picked up the tub, “I’m guessing, Peter.”

 

“Uh, what’s in it?” Stiles was curious, had Peter sent him a tub of rat poison or something? Stiles could imagine that was his style.

  
“Petroleum jelly.” Derek deadpanned.

 

“Oh.” Stiles said because- “ _Oh_. Is this some way of him giving us his blessing?” He was more than confused. Derek didn’t reply, he just huffed. “Well, just so you know. I’m not having sex with you until you lighten up.”

 

“You want to use it?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrow. “I just assumed…”

 

“What because Peter gave it to me? Dude, if Satan gave it to me I’d still use it if it meant that we could, you know.” Stiles made a circle with his thumb and finger and poked his other index through it. Derek's lip twitched slightly at that. 

 

“Even with…” He nodded his head towards Jackson and Danny’s cell, and of course they were watching, like creepy abercrombie vultures.

 

“Hmm… yeah. But maybe we could hang sheets or something, you know like in Prison Break.” Derek gave him a blank look. “Uh, have you not seen that show?”

 

“No.” Derek shook his head. “I never liked prison shows.”

 

“Huh,” Stiles pondered, because he’d never really had this conversation with Derek, about his interests, sure he knows that Derek reads a lot of classic books like Moby Dick and Grimm’s fairytales (the real dark shit, where Sleeping Beauty was raped, not wooed as she slept), but he never asked about his interests before prison. “So what kind of shows were you into?”

 

“Um.” Derek coughed, looking slightly embarrassed, as he mumbled an answer in a way he knew Stiles couldn’t hear.

 

“Try again, a little more clearly. As someone who secretly watched Scooby Doo up until the age of twenty, I cannot judge you even if I wanted to.” Stiles moved forward and poked Derek’s side teasingly, relieved that his mood was beginning to improve.

 

“Period dramas, okay. I like period dramas.”

 

“So like the Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth being all swoony in the wet shirt?” Stiles grinned.

 

“Yes. Something like that.” Derek muttered, and then looked at Stiles questioningly-

 

“No, I didn’t watch it per-say.” Stiles protested, feeling caught out. “But my mum did, and lets just say I didn’t rush out of the room during that scene. I guess surly men who look good wet are my thing.”

 

“You think I look good wet?” Derek smiled coyly.

 

“I think you look damn good all the time, but I am especially surprised I haven’t popped a woody in the shower yet.” Derek’s eyes automatically drifted down to Stiles’s crotch, and he licked his bottom lip. Stiles tried not to laugh. “So, the sheets?”

 

Derek nodded earnestly, like a kid being asked if he wanted another scoop of ice cream, and ripped the sheets off the bed, leaving just the blankets and pillows on the mattress. Stiles helped him tie them together and fix them to the bars, giving Danny and Jackson’s affronted faces a wink before blocking them out. He turned around and Derek went to kiss him, then paused, mid-lunge.

 

“Wait.” He pulled the mattresses off the beds and laid them side by side to make a makeshift double bed, it was a bit of a squeeze and he’d have to he careful not to hit his head on the sink if he was at the top-right corner, but it beat trying to fuck on one of the single bunks. “Ok.” Derek said, once he had dumped the blankets and pillows on the mattresses too, and then he pounced on Stiles, pressing their bodies and mouths together with intent.

 

“Mmph” Stiles gasped when Derek threw him down onto the ‘bed’, before climbing on top of him. Half straddling Stiles, Derek pressed his thigh between Stiles’s leg, rubbing it against his crotch. Stiles reciprocated and could feel Derek’s erection growing through the thing sweatpants material. Stiles's head began to cloud with arousal and within moments, his own sweats were straining, and he was panting into Derek’s fevered kisses.

 

Derek’s hands snuck under his sweatshirt, fingers tickling his ribs, and reaching up to smooth over his chest. Stiles was much less graceful, tugging at Derek’s shirt until he grunted and pulled it off over his head. Stiles grinned against Derek's mouth as he leaned back in, allowing his hands to touch the now-bare skin below them. Derek’s shoulders flexed as Stiles’s fingernails grazed over them, and he groaned pressing into Stiles harder.

 

“Fuck.” Stiles whispered against Derek‘s tongue, because they hadn’t even gotten to the good-stuff and he was about to cream his pants.

 

He pushed Derek back slightly with the palm of his hand, and wriggled out of his pants as Derek helped shuck off his shirt, before bending down to mouth at his adams apple. Stiles pressed a hand to Derek’s crotch and grabbed his cock through the thin material of his pants causing him to hum in pleasure. The vibrations tickled Stiles’s throat and his hips bucked, cock rubbing against Derek’s taught stomach.

 

Derek’s stubble grazed Stiles’s shoulder as he leaned across to grab the tub of jelly. He expertly twisted the lid of with one hand and was back kissing Stiles in seconds. Stiles spread his legs, stomach clenching in anticipation. Derek gently travelled down Stiles's body placing soft kisses along the way, upon his hips, down the inside of his thigh, kissing his cheeks before parting them slowly. He palmed Stiles’s ass momentarily as if testing the stretch and then placed his mouth over Stiles’s asshole. Stiles could feel the tickle of Derek's breath coming out in harsh pants before he pressed his hot tongue flat against his hole, licking him open.

 

Stiles had had sex before. He had had sex with men before. But hell, if he was ever unsure of his attraction to men, he certainly wasn’t anymore, because nothing compared to this. And _fuck_. Derek grazed a jelly-slick thumb over Stiles’s hole. The jelly felt greasy but Stiles's couldn't bring himself to care because _Derek's fingers_. Derek nipped at the inside of Stiles's thigh as he continued to circle his hole with his thumb until Stiles's ass was twitching, begging for him to do more.

 

“Come on, Derek. You can- ugh- just.” Stiles said pushing back onto the thumb to translate what he wanted. Derek made a rumbling noise in his throat and then withdrew his hand, presumably to get more jelly, before bringing it back and slowly sliding a slicked finger into Stiles's hole.

 

“Fuck. Stiles-” Derek groaned, as Stiles’s hole spasmed slightly at the invasion.

 

“Uhuh.” Stiles replied breathlessly, rocking back slightly on the finger. He opened his eyes and was faced with Derek looking absolutely hot-god-damn wrecked, his brow and chest glistening with sweat and his lips swollen and parted. Stiles knew that he probably looked even more fucked, in fact he was certain his cheeks were flushed. “More.” Stiles gasped as Derek’s finger started to make circular motions inside of him.

 

Derek kneeled up, straddling one of Stiles’s legs to get a better angle as he worked another finger in, twisting them as he gradually thrust them in and out. Stiles could tell from Derek’s intense gaze that he was enjoying watching him get off. Stiles slid a hand down his own torso, smiling when Derek followed the movement, and wrapped his hand around his cock, and began jerking himself off, whilst still fucking Derek’s fingers.

 

Stiles felt hot, the way that Derek stared at him, mouth open and mesmerised as Stiles bit his lip and threw his head back. He liked the way that he didn’t even have to touch Derek to turn him on. He could see his cock was flushed dark-red, and leaking pre-come. Stiles knew he would have to let him out of his fucking misery soon enough. When a small whine escaped Derek’s throat Stiles relented.

 

“Come in me.” Stiles whispered, making Derek groan and shifted in-between Stiles’s legs. Derek gripped Stiles's thighs pulling him in so Stiles's ass was flush against his balls. Derek rocked forward so his cock slid between Stiles’s ass-cheeks, and rolled his hips. Stiles moaned and he blindly reached a hand out beside him until it hit the Petroleum tub. His fingered scrambled to scoop some up and he reached down between his legs and pumped Derek’s dick, coating it with the jelly before impatiently fumbling to line it up to his ass. Derek inhaled, then pushed in slowly as Stiles reached up to connect their mouths, sliding their tongues together and tightening the grip of his thighs around Derek. Stiles felt the burn of his ass stretching to accommodate Derek, the heat of the burn melting away with the heat of Derek's cock. 

 

“Okay?” Derek panted once be was inside. Stiles nodded and Derek began to move his hips, pressing his sweaty forehead against Stiles’s as Stiles ran his hands along the back of Derek’s neck and through his hair, fingers tugging gently as he was fucked.

 

The sweat and pre-come made Stiles’s cock rub between their stomachs in an oh-so-good manner. He was already really fucking close. He began to rock back on Derek harder, faster, clenching his ass as he did so. In moments Derek began to lose his rhythm, rutting into Stiles harder, and Stiles began to realise how much Derek had been holding back before.

 

“Yeah, yeah, like that.” Stiles gasped, encouraging the roughness. Derek complied, fingers gripping the mattress either side of Stiles’s head hard, and leaning down to bury his face into Stiles’s neck. He pressed his lips to Stiles’s adams apple and groaned, and that was it, the secret spot. Stiles came between them hard, his entire body shaking and spasming with his orgasm. Derek thrust twice more before he came too, his biceps quivering, his breathing ragged before he promptly collapsed half on top of Stiles.

 

Derek lay on top of Stiles for a minute, face still in his neck, panting, before finally getting the energy to slowly pull out of him, and roll onto his side.

 

“Wow.” Stiles murmured, a haze of bliss still clouding his everything.

 

“Mhmm.” Derek sighed as he pulled Stiles in so he was curled into his body.

 

“Remind me to thank Peter for the gift.” Stiles murmured into Derek’s chest.

 

“Mmm I think the lube was more of a pretence than a gift knowing my uncle.” Stiles was about to ask what Derek meant by that, but honestly he was too relaxed and sleepy to try and decipher the fucked-up family relationship right now. He'd ask tomorrow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently the most common uses of lube in jail is blood (ew, i'm pretty sure thats more matt's thing) Vaseline or basically anything they can find. 
> 
> I thought PJ would be less gross than blood and shit, and also I'm pretty sure its easily snuck up from work shops or out of the hospital ward.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Trust me, this is only the start of it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I am awful!  
> But I have just had EXTREME writers block, and a lot less time than I thought I would have.  
> Seriously though, my exams just took all my writing juice.

Stiles was really confused.

 

Everyone was acting so strange. Danny and Jackson were acting annoyed because of the sheet-blocking, apparently saving Jackson’s life only goes so far in their books. Derek was pissed at Peter so some unknown reason again, and Scott was just… weird. He kept twitching, and flinching at little noises. Stiles was even more confused when Derek asked to ‘talk’ to Scott when they are all putting their trays back, and okay-

 

“What the fuck is going on?” Stiles demanded, and Peter, fucking _Peter_ grabbed his elbow and lead him away, before leaning into him, his lips brushing Stiles ear as he purred;

 

“I think Scotty is a little antsy because his lover is due out of hospital tomorrow.” Stiles doesn’t know if he should be more concerned by the fact that Peter is sniffing him again, or that Derek didn’t object to him being alone with the man.

 

“Isaac? He’s only been in hospital for like three days, why is he back so soon?”

 

“Overcrowding,” Peter waved his hand dismissively before placing an arm around Stiles’s shoulder, ignoring how Stiles tensed. “Plus I told you he would heal quickly, I’m particularly skilled in breaking bones a certain way.” Stiles shivered. Was that a threat?

 

“Relax Stiles,” Peter’s tongue draws out the ‘s’ into a hiss. “If I was planning to hurt you I wouldn’t have made my little _pact_ with Scotty-boy.”

 

They were at Stiles’s cell now, and Peter paused, one hand still on Stiles’s shoulder.

 

“By the by, Stiles. Some information about dear nephew.“ Peter leaned into Stiles, and for a moment he thinks he is going to kiss him, but instead his lips go to Stiles’s ear again. “Its not his body that is imprisoned, it's his heart.” Stiles gulped and Peter pulled back giving Stiles a meaningful look (meaning what, Stiles had no idea) before slinking off to his cell. 

 

Stiles’s still fucking confused.

 

 

\---

 

  
“What the fucking fuck is going on?” Stiles demanded as soon as Derek entered the cell. Derek sighed, like he knew this conversation was coming.

 

“Ok, Stiles. Come here.” Derek pulled Stiles into the back of the cell so they are at least partially obscured from the prying eyes of Danny and Jackson. Derek paused, before taking his hands off Stiles's arm and holding his palms up defensively. “Just, don’t freak out. Promise me.” Stiles narrowed his eyes, feeling kind of bad when Derek looked back at him, expression vulnerable.

 

“Just tell me Derek. Why is everyone being so fucking- HOLY SHIT!” Stiles squawked, and gaped, because Derek’s eyes had just turned red, his forehead had protruded, and he had grown fangs.

 

"Stiles-" Derek started to say, but Stiles interrupted-

 

“Holy shit. Are you a _vampire_?” Derek took a step back, seemly affronted. 

 

“No, I am not a vampire!” Derek’s voice had gotten high and defensive, “I’m a werewolf.”

 

“Okay.” Stiles said awkwardly, because his hallucinations had been real. So fucking real. Also, he had just offended a werewolf… A werewolf he was fucking. This whole conversation had just added to his bemusement. “Sorry you just had a Buffy-esque quality. Um so, Peter is…”

 

“One too. Yes.” Derek nodded curtly, “And uh, Scott is.”

 

“Wait WHAT?” Stiles squawked for the second time, because _Scott_?

 

“As of last night. Thanks to Peter.” The cogs in Stiles’s brain started clicking and, oh.

 

“That’s what Peter was talking about… the pact… _pack_ -t. Your uncle sure does like his puns.”

 

“Yeah.” Derek said, his face back to normal now, although still sporting a frown. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“Well duh.” Stiles said, because, there’s obvious and then there is _obvious_. “What if Scott is dangerous? What if he goes all wolfy

and-” Stiles flails his arms as if to convey the commotion that would occur. “Is Peter going to control him?”

 

“No.” Derek huffs.“I am.”

 

“Okay okay okay.” Stiles tries to calm himself down. He exhales slowly before continuing. “So Peter, breaks Isaac’s arm, turns Scott into a _werewolf_ , and then dumps him on you? Great family you got there.”

 

“Well,” Derek clears his throat. “I’m the alpha.”

 

“The alpha?” Oh hell, shit was getting real, a hysterical giggle escaped Stile's throat. “The alpha. I fucked an alpha werewolf? Oh my god, what is happening? When I entered this prison, did I also enter Narnia?”

 

“Stiles,” Derek hesitated before reaching out to cup Stiles face. His touch was so gently as though he expected him to flinch or pull away, Stiles didn’t. “Calm down. Please.”

 

“Fuck off.” Stiles said, although he grabbed the wrist of Derek's hand that was cupping his face, holding it in place. “I think I have the right to be a bit freaked out to find my boyfriend is a werewolf.” Stiles eyes widened and he dropped his grip on Derek. Shit. He just used the ‘b’ word. He tried to back-track. “I uh, I mean that my werewolf is- No. I mean, my not my-. I-” How the fuck is he meant to get out of this one?

 

“Stiles.” Derek said again, voice softer this time. “Its _okay_. We can be that. If you want?” Stiles just gaped, because seriously? Had this conversation just turned from Derek confessing to being another species to them formally declaring their relationship?

 

What. The. Fuck.

 

“Y-yeah, I mean, yeah. I want… that.” Stiles stuttered, going cross eyed as he followed Derek’s lips, leaning in to press against his. He started to kiss back, getting lost in Derek’s touch, his smell. Heat beginning to rise, as blood began to flood down to his-

 

“Wait.” Stiles pushed Derek back, licking his lips. “We still need to talk about Scott.”

 

“Huh?“ Derek was looking at Stiles’s lips, his own wet and his expression a little dazed.

 

“Scott. You know, your new little puppy.” Stiles said, tucking his hands under his chin and poking his tongue out in a pant, to emphasise his point. “What if he goes around biting everyone? The whole prison will be wolfified.”

 

“Not possible.” Derek said, finally looking up from Stiles’s mouth, “I spoke to him, he submitted to me. He’s my beta. Beta’s can’t turn people.” Stiles frowned.

 

“But Peter-”

 

“Isn’t a beta.” Derek explained, “He’s my uncle, but he isn’t part of my pack. He’s an omega. Alphas can turn people at will. Omegas can turn people, but only with permission.” Stiles’s mouth fell open in an ‘o’, because _finally_ things were starting to make sense. Well, at least a little bit.

 

“But he could still do something dangerous, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Derek nodded. “Especially in his current state. He wants revenge for Isaac… and Peter wants war with the Argents.” He sighed and then slumped onto the bottom bunk, head in his hands.

 

“The Argents?” Stiles asked, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore. Wasn’t sure he could process anymore of this craziness. “Are _they_ vampires?”

 

“No.” Derek said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nobody is a vampire, Stiles. They’re hunters. You know, because we werewolves are the big evil monsters.”

 

“Wow,” Stiles flopped down next to Derek, placing his chin on his shoulder, Derek rested his head on top of Stiles’s. “That’s fucked up.”

 

“Trust me, this is only the start of it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah the BIG REVEAL.  
> Don't worry theres more explaination to come for all those bits that are still not cleared up.
> 
> NOTE: This was written before the canon explanation (I actually asked the cast/writers if we were going to get an explanation for Peter's eyes at comic con and Hoechlin was very secretive with his reply) so wolf eye colour works differently here.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Scott!” He reached out to grab Scott, to pull him back. “No- fuck.” Scott effortlessly swiped him aside, eyes gold as he leapt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the updates are getting further apart! but I have lectures and yadayadayada  
> Life is such an annoyance.  
> On the plus side its almost finished, so woot!

Derek wasn’t lying when he said it was only the start.

 

During rec time, in the library Derek made Peter and Scott show their wolf forms to Stiles behind a bookshelf, away from the baners‘ prying eyes. They both had the protruding brow and fangs, but Scott had gold eyes ‘beta eyes’ Derek had said, whilst Peter’s were ice blue.

 

“Wow.” Breathed Stiles.

 

“I know, right?” Scott said, “Its so weird. I feel so weird.”

 

Derek had explained that as Scott was bitten and not born like him and Peter that he would find it harder. Harder to control himself, and his emotions.

 

_“So are you like affected by the moon?” Stiles had asked Derek._

_“Our senses and emotions are heightened around then, yes.” He’d explained._

 

“I’d be worried if you didn’t dude, you just got some serious joo joo power.” Stiles says. Peter seems to chuff at that, and Derek glares at him.

 

“Oh relax, Derek.” Peter, his face back to normal now, put his arm on Scott’s shoulder. “It’s a gift. From me to both of you.”

 

“I didn’t need a gift.” Grunts Derek. Scott looked like he wanted to protest the validity of this ‘gift’ too.

 

“Well I wanted to say thank you... for sticking around.” The usual playfulness in Peter’s voice was suddenly missing. He looked sincere, something which Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “And you can’t be an alpha without a beta.”

 

“But I didn’t need _Scott_ to be my beta.” Derek and Peter were looking at each other so intensely, Stiles and Scott don’t know what to do other than exchange awkward glances.

 

Derek had refused to say much about Peter when they had been in their cell, because Scott and Peter could hear them, and vice versa. Derek'd explained how he could hear what everyone was talking about in their cell if he focused in on it and he could even hear Boyd and Erica arguing about what film they were going to see that weekend.

 

Stiles suddenly remembered Derek telling Stiles about the fire and how Peter must have had to listen to it, and relive what happened. A knot tightens in his stomach and he was overcome with a wave of guilt and... and heartbreak for Peter. Which was a strange sensation if there ever was one.

 

Peter opened his mouth, like he was about to say something when the buzzer blared overhead, and shit, if its that loud for Stiles’s puny human ears, every buzz must be torture for a werewolf. Scott’s face seems to confirm this.

 

“Uh, we should..” Stiles gestured to the door. Scott glanced at Derek, still staring intensely at his uncle, and nodded. Danny and Jackson followed him and Scott out, giving Peter and Derek some privacy for whatever heartfelt moment they are having.

 

“Well, that was-” Stiles starts before remembering that Derek and Peter can hear him now. “Uh..” He trailed off when Jackson quirked a brow at him.

 

“I hear Lahey's back tomorrow.” A voice called from behind them. Stiles turned to see Matt, face bearing a shit-eating grin, coming back from the yard. “He and I, are going to have; So. Much. Fun.”

 

Stiles barely had a chance to react to the growl erupting from Scott’s chest.

 

“Scott!” Stiles reached out to grab Scott, to pull him back. “No- fuck.” Scott effortlessly swiped him aside, eyes gold as he leapt.

 

He was on top of Matt in an instant, claws slashing, and Stiles barely had time to look up before Peter and Derek were there too, suddenly joined in the fray. Stiles could see blood, could _smell_ blood. Matt’s he assumed, as Peter grappled with Scott. There was the unmistakable crunch of bones breaking (who's Stiles did not know) as Peter held Scott’s head in a full nelson hold, forcing him to look Derek in the eyes. Derek’s head lowered, breathing heavily, as he flashed his eyes red at Scott who instantly became limp.

 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek is crouched at his side in an instance. Stiles was blinking rapidly, trying to take the last five minutes in.

 

“Uh… yeah, yeah I think so…” He rubbed at his right arm, where Scoot had shoved him out of the way, because _damn_ , werewolf strength.

 

“I smell blood.” Derek was still hovering.

 

“No duh.” Stiles pointed at Matt, who had dragged himself to the wall, leaving a trail of sticky red.

 

“No, Stiles. I smell _your_ blood.” He pulled Stiles’s hand away from where it was rubbing his arm, and that’s when Stiles noticed the blood on his palm. He scrambled at the torn material of his sweater to reveal two deep cuts in his arm. Claw-marks.

 

“Shit.” Stiles panicked, dabbing at his arm with the torn sleeve.

 

“Will someone please explain what the fuck just happened?“ A shaky voice asked from beside them. Jackson was wearing a Danny-shaped shield against the wall, his hands clutching to Danny's sweater looking like he wanted to run away.

 

“Yes.” Another voice from behind them chipped in. Stiles whipped around to see Harris, standing with his arms folded. “I would be interested to know that myself.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What about Isaac?” Stiles mumbled around Derek’s tongue, licking its way into his mouth. “Why don’t you turn him?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUNDUNDUN SEX  
> And for those of you panicking, I WILL NOT abandon this fic.  
> I just have a lot of stuff going on at the moment and don't want to half-ass this.  
> But yes, enjoy Bottom!Derek muahahahah

Scott was sent to solitary. 

 

_“Don’t fight it.”_

 

Derek had warned, when he struggled against the cuffs. Derek’s eyes glowed red again and Scott nodded in submission. 

 

_“Just, look after Isaac… Please.”_

  

Scott’d whispered. 

  

Matt was carried to the hospital by two guards Harris called in. Fortunately, there was 24 hour surveillance so he wouldn’t be able to touch Isaac there. Unfortunately, Matt was only superficially wounded. Scott had left three thick gouges across his face. It was as though the monster inside of Matt had caused his face to crack and ruin his human façade. Exposing him for the ugly monster that he was. Stiles couldn’t say he felt bad for him. Not at all. 

 

After Scott had been led away in cuffs, Harris had turned to the others. 

 

_“Well this is an inconvenience. Gerard wont be pleased.”_

_“Ah, yes. Gerard.” Peter sidled up to Harris, his eyes flashing blue, and Stiles was surprised to find that Harris didn’t even flinch. Did he know? “I suppose you are going to have to tell your boss about the little mishap between my teeth and my cellmate?”  Harris lifted his chin up._

_“If the Hale pack is growing, Mr Argent will be informed, yes.”_

_“The ‘Hale’ pack.” chuckled Peter, “Did you not notice the colour of my eyes? Do you want reminding?”_

_“Peter.” Derek warned._

_“Do you want to join your cell-mate in solitary?” Harris spat, and Peter took a step back in surrender, smile still dancing across his face. “The five of you. To your cell. No evening meal.”_

_“Uh hang on,” Jackson protested, the threat of starvation apparently giving him courage. He pushed Danny, who was still half-covering him away. “We have nothing to do with this, we are just witnesses.”_

_“All of you. Detained until breakfast.” Harris repeated. Jackson shut up. “Now, to your cells unless you want to miss breakfast too._ ” 

 

“Harris is such an ass. I assume he knows about you.”  Stiles glared at the officer, walking away, through the bars of their cell, as he shucked off his shoes. 

 

“Let me look at it.” Derek hovered over Stiles, ignoring his rant. 

 

“I’m fine.” Stiles pushed Derek away. “Harris. He knows?” 

 

“Yes. Kate dated him, used him, so her father would have someone in here. Here, let me-” Derek tried to touch his bloodied arm again, and Stiles kind of half tussled with him.

 

“Stop _fussing_.” Stiles whined. 

 

“I can help.” Derek’s touch softened, and Stiles stopped resisting. He watched as Derek gingerly peeled back the sweater, which had begin to stick to the scratches. He reached behind him, eyes still fixed on the gashes, and grabbed a cloth from the sink, dampening it under the tap. “You know, there are perks to having a mutant for a boyfriend.” Derek murmured as he dabbed the cloth on the wound.

 

“You’re not a muta- ouch.” Stiles hissed as Derek placed a flat palm on his wound and- “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. What _is_ that?” Black veins were appearing on Derek’s hand, trickling up his arm like treacle, before disappearing. 

 

“Alphas are there to look after their pack. They… we have certain healing abilities. Most parents in a pack can take away pain and heal too.” Derek was frowning as he spoke, as if this took concentration. 

 

“Yeah, yeah the pain is lessened.” Stiles was still watching the gross veins in awe. “But, I thought all wolves heal.” 

 

“From most things, yes. But certain things, like bites from other alphas, they may need help. And the pack doesn’t just consist of wolves. Humans can be pack.” 

 

“Am I-?”

 

“Yes.” Stiles didn’t even get to finish the question before Derek had answered. A grin spread across Stiles's face, and Derek looked up at him from where he was kneeling. “Yes Stiles, you’re my pack.” He smiled up through his lashes in a way that was almost shy, and Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. 

 

“Oh my god. Can you hear that?” Stiles didn’t know if he should be embarrassed. 

 

“Yes.” Derek chuckled, sliding his hand from Stiles’s arm, too his neck. “Don’t worry. I like it.” He pulled Stiles down to connect their lips, and Stiles had to stop grinning like an idiot in order to kiss him back. 

 

“What about Isaac?” Stiles mumbled around Derek’s tongue, licking its way into his mouth. “Why don’t you turn him?” Stiles prompted again when Derek still didn’t leave his mouth. 

 

“Because, its not a gift. Despite what Peter says. You saw Scott.” Derek sighed, as he pushed Stiles back so he was lying on the bed. “I would never turn someone unless it was absolutely necessary, or they asked for it.” He straddled Stiles. 

 

“But you never asked him, he might want it.” Stiles said, palms stroking up Derek’s thighs, feeling his muscles through the thing fabric. 

 

“Isaac is so young, he doesn’t… he _can‘t_ know what he wants.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure he knows he doesn’t want Matt.” Stiles reasoned. Derek sighed again. 

 

“Okay, I get it. But there’s nothing I can do about it right this second.” And he leant down, pressing his mouth to Stiles’s throat. And that was their conversation over. 

 

Derek nuzzled up to Stiles’s jaw, and into his hair, pressing wet kisses as he went. 

 

“You know.” Stiles breathed, his hips rocking up slowly. “If there’s any weird wolfy stuff you want to do, just let me know.” He felt Derek snort a laugh into his hairline. 

 

“Hmm, what?” Derek mumbled, “Like this?” and flattened his tongue behind Stiles’s ear and licked a firm line across his jaw and to his mouth. “Its just you. Taste. So. Good.” Derek growled playfully, and Stiles barked a laugh as he let Derek’s tongue lap at his mouth, lap into his mouth. The laugh turned into a moan and he threaded his fingers into Derek’s hair, tugging him closer. 

 

Derek ground his body down on Stiles, rocking their hips together as he worked a hand under Stiles’s shirt. His fingers smoothed over Stiles’s stomach and he could feel Derek tracing the hair around his navel. He could feel Derek’s warmth through their clothes, his hard length through their sweatpants, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted skin on skin. Stiles moved his hand down to grab the back of Derek’s collar and pull it upwards, over Derek’s head. Derek complied, letting Stiles strip his shirt before helping Stiles with his. 

 

“Don’t you wanna- the sheets.” Derek panted, as Stiles reached down to pull his sweatpants off. 

 

“Fuck it.” Stiles said, his hands reaching into Derek’s pants, grabbing his ass-cheeks and yanking him in to rut up against his cock. Stiles liked how he could be rougher with Derek now, knowing that Derek could take it. Liked it. If Jackson and Danny wanted an eyeful well, it may just distract them from the discovery of werewolves, he didn’t care anymore. He just cared about the topless body writhing above him, the hand reaching into his pants, wrapping around his achingly hard cock and stroking. Derek removed his hand, and Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by Derek’s hot tongue, licking into him, sucking gently on Stiles’s tongue and bottom lip. 

 

He pulled on Stiles’s pants, knuckles brushing his skin as he was left naked and bare. Derek looked down at Stiles's erection, and licked his bottom lip, before shucking his own pants off hurriedly. Stiles was pretty impressed at the speed at which his wolfy skills allowed him to undress. Anything that got Derek naked, and fast, was good in his books. 

 

Stiles reached out to touch Derek, to caress his body, but Derek caught his wrist. He guided Stiles’s hand down, over his body and Stiles let him. Derek grabbed Stiles's other hand and leaned forward as he placed each hand on his ass-cheeks, grinding his hips down on Stiles's as he did so. 

 

“You know,” Derek panted, moving Stiles’s hands so they massaged his cheeks, spreading them open. “If you want, you can fuck me.” 

 

Stiles gulped, because, yes he wanted. He wanted very much. He managed to give a small garble in response, which he hoped Derek would take as a _‘yes fucking please’,_ and jutted his hips forward. Derek smiled mischievously, and oh god that smile was going to be the death of Stiles, reaching under the bed for the pot of jelly. 

 

Stiles licked his lips eagerly as Derek used two fingers to scoop up some of the lube. Stiles watched mesmerized as his palms parted Derek’s cheeks for him, letting Derek reach behind him and circle his own hole. Stiles’s mouth opened in a silent moan as he watches Derek roll his head back, lips parted slightly as he slid a finger in, teasing himself. Stiles realised his fingernails were digging into Derek’s ass in a way that must he uncomfortable and he retracted his hands quickly. 

 

“You don’t have to be gentle Stiles. I can take it.” Derek purred into Stiles’s ear, and Stiles had to check he hadn’t just come from that. Because _holy hell_ Derek can’t just _say_ things like that.  

 

Derek moved Stiles’s hand back onto him, but this time, between his cheeks. He let Stiles’s finger trace his hole, and when Stiles hovered over the entrance, Derek grinned impishly and thrust back on it, fucking Stiles’s finger. He felt warm and tight and oh so fucking good. Stiles wanted more. He lined up another finger and looked at Derek who nodded, grin still in place. Stiles put a second finger in and Derek groaned, as Stiles moved his fingers in and out, scissoring them every now and again. 

 

“Fuck, Stiles. Just do it.” Derek gasped, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. “Uh wait.” Derek un-straddled Stiles and turned around, presenting his ass to Stiles. 

 

“You sure?” Stiles hesitated, as he got onto his knees behind him. Derek whipped his head over his shoulder giving stiles an _‘are you serious’_ glare, before Stiles nodded and lined up behind him. Stiles blew out a slow breath as he slicked up his cock with the petroleum jelly. He was achingly hard. He gave Derek’s ass a stroke, gently parting his cheeks as he pressed his cock to Derek’s hole. 

 

“ _Stiles_.” Derek growled, impatient. Stiles thrust in obediently. Derek ass clenched around him and Stiles had to pause twice in fear of coming from it. His breath was escaping out in short pants as the warmth of Derek was pressed against him, ass flushed against his hips before he began to move in short thrusts. 

 

Derek was fucking back onto him, and Stiles was mesmerised by the view. The muscles in Derek’s shoulders rolling, the beads of sweat that trickled into the base of spine, between his ass cheeks as they bore back on him, pressing against his hips as he sank back onto Stiles‘s cock. Stiles smoothed a palm up Derek's back, across his ribs and flexing shoulders, breathing ragged. He leant in, into the warm, sweat slick body as his hips snapped forward, burying into Derek who groaned out approval. He placed an open-mouthed kiss upon Derek’s spine, tasting the salty sweat. 

 

Stiles moved his hands around to press against Derek’s chest, thumbs grazing over his nipples, his pecs, down to his stomach. Stiles, who’s torso was now pressed against Derek’s back, sat up, pulling Derek up with him. Derek threw his head back, one arm going up to grip hold of the bunk above to steady them. Stiles could see Derek's face now, his eyes closed, mouth open as he rocked back against Stiles. 

 

Stiles watched as he moved his hand down to grab hold of Derek’s cock, and gave a squeeze. Derek let out a groan, his adam’s apple bobbing with the sound, and Stiles’s eyes followed a bead of sweat from Derek’s hairline, down the side of his face, past his jaw, and down his neck until it sat in the hollow of his collar bones. Stiles licked at it, before biting down into Derek’s skin as he could feel his rhythm becoming more erratic as he got closer and closer to coming. Derek felt so good against him, around him, around his cock. He let Derek’s skin muffle his moans, and scraped the fingernails of one hand across Derek’s abs as the other hand pumped his cock, eliciting groans and grunts from Derek. 

 

“Fuck, fuck.” Derek said as Stiles’s hand quickened and his rhythm became more erratic. Suddenly Stiles slowed, and then quickened again and Derek was gone, come spurting over Stiles’s hand and his hole spasming around Stiles’s cock. Stiles’s bit down harder, trying to hold out for a bit longer, but he started to taste blood and knew it was a lost cause as Derek pushed back on him hard. Stiles came with a stuttered moan, forehead now pressed against the back of Derek’s neck. 

 

“Nghh.” Stiles’s groaned as he pulled out and collapsed on the sheets, now sticky with sweat and spunk. Derek turned around and leaned down, kissing his nipple.

 

“How’s your arm?” He asked, but didn’t ask for a reply before jostling Stiles so he could see it. He rubbed a finger over it and then bend his head down. Stiles expected him to sniff it or something, but instead he dragged his tongue across it.

 

“Ew.” Stiles said at the strange gesture.

 

“You just had your dick in my ass, but this is ew?” Derek raised his eyebrow, amused. 

  

“Hmm, fair point.” Stiles replied, sinking back into the pillow as Derek curled around him. “Oh my god.” Stiles said suddenly, eyes wide because a thought had just occurred to him. “ _Could_ _Peter_ _hear us having sex_?”  Derek buried his face into Stiles’s neck and groaned. 

 

“Yeah... I try not to think about that.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH FLUFF YOU COULD MIX IT WITH CHOCOLATE TO MAKE A S'MORE.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Uh, Dad… I have something to tell you though.”_

 

“How are you, Son?” The Sheriff slid into the chair opposite Stiles.

 

“Fine.” Stiles strained a smile.

 

“Stiles.” His father pushed.

 

"Dad, I’m fine. Honest.” Stiles protested, rolling his eyes.

 

“I heard about Isaac.” His father was wearing the same serious face as when he would try and get Stiles to tell him what he REALLY got on his Spanish test. It didn’t work then, and it wasn’t going to work now.

 

“Yeah, well _Isaac_ isn’t fine. But I am.” Stiles said pointedly. The sheriff sighed and put his head in his hands. “Uh, Dad… I have something to tell you though.”

 

“What’s happened?” His father looked up concern etched in his face.

 

“No no, its not bad.“ Stiles quickly reassured. “Its just…I’ve kind of… met someone.” He grimaced.

 

“Oh God. In here? You would have.” The Sheriff rubbed his palm across his face.

 

“Come on dad. Not everyone in here is bad. You’ve met Scott, you know Isaac.”

 

“Is this guy innocent too?”

 

“Well… no, but-”

 

“He’s not a murder?” His father looked suspicious, yet hopeful.

 

“Uh… Not exactly?” Stiles scrunched up his face.

 

“Why do I even try.” His dad slumped down and hit his forehead on the table.

 

“Daaaaaad.” Stiles whined, “He’s great, honestly. He looks after us all, like our own personal bodyguard.”

 

“You mean, like he looked after Isaac?” His father looked up from the table, eyebrow raised (and damn, why wasn't that hereditary?).

 

“Oh, but that’s different. That was Peter Hale and was only becau-” Stiles was cut off.

 

“The Hales? Stiles, listen to me. You mustn’t get involved with the Hales. Steer well clear of them.” His father sounded panicked.

 

“Uh… that may be a bit difficult as I’m sort.. Kind of… with Derek.. Hale.” Stiles pulled a face with each word.

 

“With as in… friends?” The Sheriff was holding onto straws here. 

 

“Yeah… a type of friend. Commonly known as a boyfriend.” Stiles's dad looked like he was about to pass out.

 

“Why couldn’t you just have ‘met’ Scott?” He whispered before his head was back on the table again.

 

“Dad.” Stiles said, reaching out to pat him awkwardly on the head. “He is honestly amazing. Really. And technically he only killed one person, actually only helped kill them really and they did kind of set his family on fire. So I’m pretty sure its justified.”

 

“Its not just that Stiles.” His dad muffled into the table before bringing his head back up. “I know the Argents are there, and you being involved with the Hales… it makes you a Target. I’ve seen the pictures of their victims, you don’t understand what they do.”

 

“Oh I understand dad.” Stiles said. “You may have seen pictures, but I’ve seen the real thing. I’m not a child. I’m pretty sure all my virtue has gone since I’ve been here, uh violence-wise.” He added awkwardly in case his dad thought he may have been referring to the virtue of his asshole. “They had it in for me before Derek.” His father didn’t look reassured at that, “And I can take care of myself. Derek can take care of me. I have Scott too, and Isaac, and Jackson, and Danny. Hell, sometimes I even think I can count on Peter… I’m okay, I promise.”

 

“My, you’ve got yourself a proper little gang there haven’t you.” His dad said. He didn’t quite look relieved, but he didn’t look like he was going to pass out anymore.

 

“They my homies. My bro’s.” Stiles put on a gangster accent, “We rule dis town.” His dad cracked a small smile, and Stiles beamed back jumping slightly when the buzzer rang to signal the end of the visit.

 

“I’ll see you next week son. Take care of yourself now.” His father said getting up.

 

“I will pops. Love you.” Stiles said, standing and hugging his dad.

 

“Me too.” His dad said as he pulled away, and watched Stiles walk toward Erica who lead him out.

 

"Did you tell daddy about your new hot-ass boyfriend?” Erica smirked as she led him through the dank corridors, back towards the cells.

 

“Were you listening to my conversation?” Stiles asked. Erica ignored him and continued talking.

 

“I must say you two are the most attractive couple, and that is saying something given your two Armani model neighbours… but I think you have the romantic edge. When you saw that dead prisoner in the cell and passed out, Hale caught you like Mr Fucking Darcy, and ugh, I almost fake fainted to see if he’d catch me and caress my face like that too.” She fake swooned with a cackle.

 

“Do you just like, spy on everyone in here?” Stiles glared, to cover up his shock. Derek had caught him back then? Even after he’d puked on him?

 

“Oh honey, of course.” Erica smirked, “Its better than a soap opera in here, with bonus x-rated scenes.” She winked, and poked him in the small of the back to usher him into his cell.

 

“Its official,” Stiles flailed at Derek, who was lounging on the bed, as Erica shut the gates. “Everyone here has heard us fucking.” Derek looked up from the book he had been reading and grinned, amused. “Its not funny! Where is the privacy?” Stiles whined.

 

“Stiles,” Derek threw the book aside and reached forward, grabbing Stiles around the waist and pulling him onto the bed. Stiles kind of flopped down in a heap. “Everyone in here has seen each other shower butt-ass naked. Privacy doesn’t exist in this place.” Stiles could heard the smile in his voice as Derek wrapped his arms around him and nestled his face into Stiles’s neck, breathing him in.

 

“Is Isaac back?” Stiles murmured, as Derek nosed up to his ear.

 

“Yeah.” Derek rested his chin on Stiles’s shoulder. “Matt’s still in the hospital though, Isaac said he’d be back tomorrow…”

 

“Have you thought anymore about… you know, giving him the bite.” Stiles chewed his lip.

 

“Stiles.” Derek warned.

 

“What? He needs to protect himself.” Stiles argued.

 

“The bite comes with its own dangers, Stiles.” Derek turn him round to face him. “The Argents are pissed off enough that Scott got turned, do you know what they’ll do if they think I am trying to create a pack in here.”

 

“But they’re human, you can take them.” Stiles clawed at the air to prove his werewolf point. Derek rolled his eyes.

 

“We’re not immortal Stiles. Just because we can heal, doesn’t mean we can’t get hurt and die.”

 

“But you get hurt a lot less easily, and I’m pretty sure they don’t have silver in here.” Stiles pointed out.

 

“I- uh, what?” Derek looked taken a back for a second, like he wanted to laugh, before remembering he was having an argument. “Silver doesn’t harm us, Stiles. Bane on the other hand.”

 

“Bane?” Stiles frowned.

 

“They make the drug from the Aconitum plant. it’s a toxic flower, that causes humans to hallucinate, and get high. Aconitum also known as aconite, monkshood women’s bane… and wolf’s bane, highly poisonous to werewolves.”

 

“Don’t people die from aconite poisoning?” Stiles frowned.

 

“Don’t people die from heroin?” Derek retorted.

 

“Fair point. But if they have had the resources to kill you all this time, why would they only do it now?” This just didn’t make sense to Stiles.

 

“I haven’t been a threat until now.” Derek shrugged. “Bane is slow-brewing poison, it takes a while to travel around the body. Unless they got close enough to inject it straight into my heart, in which they would knowingly risk losing their throats, I would be alive long enough to exact revenge and probably kill most of them.” He said it so matter of factly, that a shiver ran down Stiles’s spine.

 

“But suddenly… you’re a threat now?” Stiles questioned.

 

“Thanks to Peter… and you.”

 

“Wait, what? Peter isn’t even in your pack, and I’m human!” Stiles didn’t know why but he looked at his hand, as if to just check that he hadn’t sprouted claws. Nope, just stubby nails there… wow, his cuticles had gone to shit in here.

 

“Yes, Peter turned Scott. And whilst you are human, you are still part of my pack and-” Derek stopped abruptly, causing Stiles to look up from examining his nail beds.

 

“And?” Stiles pushed.

 

“Uh, and you and Scott… um having a pack makes an alpha stronger. And now there’s the added danger of Peter… who, whilst an omega is a very strong one.”

 

“So… now that you are stronger and can kill them more easily… they want to challenge you? Point one for logic!” Derek shrugged.

 

“I didn‘t say it made sense.” Derek leaned back against the wall with a sigh as the buzzer signalling dinner rang overhead. “By the way.” He said as they stood up to the bars. “Isaac doesn’t know about us yet.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shits about to go down in the next chap, just a warning.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ah Derek, you should learn to keep your bitch on a leash.” Gerard scolded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me.

 

 

“Isaac! Hey!” Stiles pushed through the line of prisoners filing into the cafeteria, towards the younger boy. “Its good to see you, man.” He pulled him into a hug, careful to avoid the white plaster cast encasing his arm.

 

“You too.” Isaac smiled into Stiles’s ear. “Though you kind of smell, really bad.”

 

“Sorry dude.” Stiles laughed pulling away, he was so happy to see the boy. He looked okay minus the cast. The bruises on his face were gone, and he looked like he’d slept well for once. “Yeah, me and Derek are going to shower after eating, I promise.”

 

“Where are Danny and Jackson?” Isaac asked, craning his neck to look along the line of men at the canteen.

 

“There.” Derek pointed, coming up behind them, and Stiles had to bite his lip from making a smart-ass wolf comment. Derek had said that Scott wanted to be the one to tell Isaac, and Stiles respected that. He knew what a delicate situation this was, and telling your boyfriend that you turn into a wolf every once in a while isn’t the easiest thing to do.

 

They queued up for their bowls of Bolognese? Or was it chilli? Whatever it was, it was foul.

 

“I swear they are trying to poison us.” Peter drawled, dropping his spoon in his chilli, causing it to splash onto the table, and onto Danny’s cheek where he was sat next to Peter. Jackson glowered at him, his usual fidgetiness was replaced with an extra short temper today. He had already snapped at Isaac for accidentally hitting him with his cast, and seemed to be in a domestic spat with Danny.

 

“Jesus, what’s crawled up your ass.” Peter sighed dramatically, “Or maybe its what _hasn’t_ been up there lately.” He smirked at Jackson.

 

“Peter.” Derek warned, but Jackson was already getting up and storming off like a true drama queen. Peter tilted his head after him, amusement clear on his features.

 

“Well awkward as this lovely dinner has been, I stink.” Stiles rose, and then paused before picking up his tray. “But I’m glad you’re okay Isaac.”

 

\---

 

“Wow, its dead in here... where is Pervy Paul?” Stiles mused as he stripped off his shirt, and turned on the faucet.

 

“You are complaining that we have the showers to ourselves?” Derek asked. “All. To. Ourselves.” Stiles jumped and then smiled as Derek appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

“You don’t think shower sex is a bit… cliché?” Stiles asked, tilting his head to give Derek better access.

 

“Are you saying you don’t want to?” Derek span Stiles around, so their bare chests were flushed together.

 

“I never said such a thing!” Stiles mock-gasped as he pulled the alpha in for a kiss. Derek grazed his fingertips underneath Stiles‘s waistband, as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into Stiles’s mouth and filling it with heat.

 

“Are you two going to have sex in here?” The voice made them spring backwards, and Derek turned towards the door, hackles raised. “Personally I find shower sex a bit… cliché.” Gerard Argent smirked, walking towards the benches.

 

“Did you hear him-”

 

“Come in?” Gerard finished Stiles‘s whispered question. “I’m a hunter Stiles, we know how to sneak up on beasts. Its our job.”

 

“Ever think about a new profession?” Stiles deadpanned. “Hunting innocent people doesn’t seem to have gotten you places.”

 

“Ah Derek, you should learn to keep your bitch on a leash.” Gerard scolded.

 

Derek growled, his body crouched in a defensive position.

 

“Now now Derek,” Gerard raised a finger, “before you start pouncing and scramming, I think you should know what is at stake here.” Gerard snapped his fingers and Chris Argent shuffled in, pushing Isaac in front of him. He had a shank to Isaac’s ribs, and his injured arm twisted behind his back. Stiles’s blood boiled, and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, feeling like _he_ was going to be the one to pounce and scram at any moment. Chris eyed Stiles with a smirk.

 

“I think you need to keep your bitch under control Hale.” Chris dragged Isaac with him away from the doors and towards Gerard and the benches.

 

“I only want to talk,” Gerard said, “but if you start making rash decisions I may be forced to react... unkindly.”

 

“And you think it will go unnoticed, by the guards… by Finstock.” Derek snarled. Stiles noticed his eyes flicking to the door as if calculating the chance of making it out intact. But they couldn’t, not with Isaac.

 

“Have you seen Finstock around lately?” Gerard asked with a smug smile. “And as for the guards…” He trailed off as he followed Derek’s gaze to the doorway, where Harris was entering, flanked by two of Argent’s gang members.

 

For a second Stiles thought that Gerard had double crossed the officer, and was holding him hostage like Isaac, but then he noticed the gun in Harris’s hand. He was far from a victim, he was working for Gerard.

 

Stiles looked at Harris and the men joining Gerard and Chris, one of the followers reached up to ruffle Isaac’s hair and muttered.

 

“Hello, Doe-eyes. Matt says such nice things about you.” The other follower snorted, as if it was some hilarious joke and Stiles was pretty sure he threw up a little in his mouth.

 

“Your pack is getting far too big for its boots.” Gerard sat on one of the benches and crossed his legs, like he was at a business meeting that didn’t involve holding people and gun and knife point. “We need you to remedy this by getting rid of Mr McCall as your beta.”

 

“Do you really want two omegas running wild in here?” Derek said, his voice low and threatening.

 

“No, you misunderstand. We want you to get _rid_ of him Hale. To _kill_ him… Ah ah” He raised a finger and tutted as Derek’s eyes flashed red. “We are only thinking of you. You see, one way or another we need to downsize your pack. Now either we can dispose of your beta, or... We can dispose of your mate.” His eyes slid to where Stiles was standing, slightly behind Derek‘s protective stance, eyes wide.

 

Derek’s nostrils flared, and in less than a blink his face was contorted, fangs protruded and eyes red. Derek had barely taken a step forward when Stiles heard the bangs of Harris’s shotgun, and Derek was propelled backwards slightly from the force.

 

Stiles couldn’t do more than watch in horror as Derek let out an anguished roar before lunging again only to be shot by two more bullets. Blood was pouring down his naked back, the through and through holes of two of the bullets oozing as he tried to pick himself up from where he was crouched.

 

“If that is your answer, we shall make this decision very easy for you.” Gerard pulled out a small silver knife and pressed it to his lips in a kiss, before whispering “Mate it is.”

 

Stiles didn’t have time to duck or react before the knife was flying towards him. He saw a blur and wondered briefly if he had been hit and was falling, but upon blinking he realised he hadn‘t moved. The blur had been something else. Someone else.

 

He looked down, at Peter. Peter whimpered on the floor, and Stiles saw the handle of the knife sticking out from his heart, a perfect hunter‘s aim.

 

Derek looked back from his uncle on the floor and roared. The sound echoed off the walls, and Stiles felt a tile crack beneath his foot from the vibrations.

 

Derek lunged at Gerard who ducked behind one of his followers, just in time, as Derek tore out the throat of the man. Panicked yells from the group rang around them, followed by more gunshots as Harris tried to back out of the room, fending Derek off. Derek was hit four more times before they were gone. Chris had thrown Isaac across a bench in the escape, but the boy looked unharmed. Peter however-

 

Stiles fell to his knees, Peter’s face was a sickly shade of white. Stiles tore at his shirt, around where the knife was. He grasped his hand around the handle, ready to pull it out so the omega could heal, when he noticed the thick purple veins throbbing around the wound.

 

“Derek.” Stiles croaked, because somehow he didn’t think this was a normal knife. Derek crawled across to them, blood smearing across the floor as his half-healed wounds still seeped.

 

“Peter?” Derek cupped his bloody hands around Peter’s face. Peter’s eyes rolled slightly, before focusing on him.

 

“Mhm.” Peter choked a laugh. “Fucking bane.” He raised an arm, and then let it drop again, little spasms moving across his body.

 

“What do I do?” The panic was clear in Derek’s voice as he fumbled over the purple veins, now glowing as they crawled up to his neck.

 

“You can’t save me, Derek.“ Peter looked sad. Not for him, but for Derek.

 

“But-” Derek looked over his body desperately, as if some magical cure would appear and save his last remaining family member.

 

“Just.. Forgive me.” Peter said, his face turning pained. “For Laura.”

 

“I- I don’t. It wasn‘t your fault.” Derek‘s chin crumpled, and Stiles felt so helpless kneeling there, unable to do a thing. Peter’s face relaxed into a weak smile.

 

“Just like the fire wasn’t yours.” He gasped, his chest convulsing as the purple veins crept up to his jaw.

 

“Peter?” Derek’s voice broke, he sounded like a child.

 

“No need to thank me for saving him, I‘m happy to.” Peter whispered between laboured breathes, he coughed and purple goo spluttered onto his chin. He made a sound between a pained whine and a chuckle. “Anything for my beloved nephew…” He wheezed again, gurgling as he breathed in the purple liquid. He smiled again as he spluttered on another breath, “My alpha.” Peter's eyes flashed gold, before his whole body began shaking violently.

 

“Peter!” Derek called, trying to hold his body down as it shook. “Peter. Don’t-” His voice cracked as Peter’s body came to a still, his mouth still etched into a smile, and the ghost of gold in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HALE NO.  
> did I just do that?  
> oops.  
> And you know what; ITS NOT OVER IN THE SLIGHTEST


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“No no no Peter. Come on, please. Uncle Peter, please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh sorry for the lack of update! 
> 
> This has literally been my first day off in WEEKS. I have had so many essays and revision and I've been applying to live in america next year so have had to apply to a new university and i'm still sorting out visas and flights and sooooooo much stuff. 
> 
> I have had no time to even think about Teen wolf, let alone fish out my laptop and write about it! Life has been chaotic.
> 
> hope this will make up for it!

  
“Peter?” Derek shook his uncle’s shoulder. Peter’s head lolled on the floor, unresponsive. Stiles’s mouth felt like sandpaper. He looked up at Derek who looked more pained now than he had when he’d been shot. “No no no Peter. Come on, please. Uncle Peter, please.”

 

“S-Stiles.”Stiles looked over at Isaac, he was pale and on the floor next to the bench, he was holding his side with his good arm.

 

“Isaac?” Stiles scrambled over the floor towards the boy. Isaac coughed and a bubble of blood escaped his mouth. “Isaac!” Stiles panicked. No, this couldn’t be happening. As he reached Isaac he could see the shank Chris had been holding sticking out between two of Isaac’s ribs, the sweatshirt around it stained red. “Derek! Derek! Isaac!”

 

Derek turned from where he was still crouched over his Peter's body, but he was looking up at the door. Stiles turned and saw Erica and Boyd entering the scene, eyes wide.

 

“Radio Deaton.” Erica ordered, shoving Boyd out of the way as she walked in. She leaned over the Argent member Derek had killed, checking what little neck there was left for a pulse. She kicked the body aside slipping, slightly on the blood pooling from his neck, stumbling over to Isaac.

 

“We have a situation in the shower room. Requesting medical assistance” Boyd spoke calmly into the radio.

 

 _Boyd. This is Deaton, is anyone injured?_   The radio crackled.

 

“Pierre and Hale are down, and Lahey is injured.” Boyd stepped over the Argent that must be Pierre, and over to where Derek was still kneeling next to Peter.

 

 _Which Hale is down? How long has he been down. Is the other Hale there?_ Deaton sounded breathless across the radio, as though he was running.

 

“I-” Boyd was cut off as Derek grabbed the radio from him.

 

“Peter. His heart stopped beating fourty-eight seconds ago.” Derek panted into the receiver.

 

“Derek!” Stiles called again, as Isaac coughed up even more blood. He hovered his hand over Isaac’s side not sure what to do. He was shoved out of the way by Erica, then Derek was by his side.

 

“I think his lung’s collapsed.” Erica said.

 

“So that wou- would be why I c-can’t breathe then.” Isaac wheezed, blood and drool dripping down his chin.

 

“Do something.” Stiles pleaded, clawing at Derek’s arm. “He’s going to die!”

 

“W-What can I do?” Derek sniffed, just as panicked.

 

 _Derek, are you there?_ Deaton’s voice came back over the radio.

 

“Yes.” Derek said, his attention torn.

 

“Turn him!” Stiles shouted.

 

“I can’t just-” Derek turned to Stiles, radio still in his hand.

 

“He’s going to DIE!” Stiles shouted.

 

“You don’t know that.” Derek said, although the uncertain look on his face told Stiles everything.

 

“Are you kidding me! He can’t breathe! There is blood pouring out of his mouth!”

 

“Derek.” The voice came from the door, and everyone turned to see Deaton come in. He looked towards Peter and then Isaac, internal conflict clear.

 

“His lung has collapsed.” Erica called to Deaton. Deaton rushed over. Isaac gurgled some more, blood bubbling out of the side of his mouth.

 

“His lungs are filling with blood, he's suffocating… dying. Derek.” Deaton turned to Derek giving him a knowing look. Derek looked just as confused as Stiles… did Deaton _know_?

 

“Derek, do it.” Stiles said, as Deaton stood up and moved to Peter.

 

“Stiles.” Derek, shook his head. “Its-”

 

“Isaac. Do you want to die?” Stiles turned to Isaac who just coughed another blood bubble, but that was enough for Stiles, “There look he doesn’t want to die. Bite him!”

 

“What- don’t bite him!” Erica screamed.

 

“No no its okay.” Stiles said.

 

“Isaac?” Derek looked at him for some for of confirmation, even though they all knew he had no idea what he was agreeing to, after a second Derek nodded. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

 

Derek grabbed the shank from Isaac’s side and yanked the blade out. Isaac opened his mouth in a scream, but no noise came out, instead he just spluttered on blood. Derek’s eyes flashed red as he opened his mouth, teeth growing into fangs.

 

“Wha-” Erica gasped as Derek leaned forward and sank his teeth into Isaac’s wound. Isaac threw his head back in pain, mouth still open in a silent scream, his adam’s apple bobbing with every choked breath. Stiles allowed himself to relax minutely before-

 

“Stiles, Stiles! Pass me that shank.” Deaton was crouched over Peter’s body. The knife no longer in his chest, and Pierre’s body was now beside them. Stiles looked at the shank that had been in Isaac’s side seconds before and grabbed it from the bloodied floor, rushing over the Deaton.

 

Deaton was rummaging through a medi-kit that he must have brought with him. He produced some tubes and a scalpel.

 

“Boyd. I will need you to cut out his heart when I say.” Deaton pointed to Pierre’s body, handing him the scalpel. “Stiles. I need you to do the same to Peter.”

 

“What?” Boyd asked, looking at Stiles who already had the shank positioned over Peter’s heart, the skin still patterned with purple veins.

 

“We are performing an emergency heart transplant.” Deaton pulled some needles from the medi-kit and began sticking them in both the bodies as he explained hurriedly. “Peter’s heart has been stopped for less than two minutes which means, if we give him a blood transfusion just enough to dilute the bane and allow his heart to start again-” he paused to tear open a packet of something with his teeth. “If his heart starts pumping the fresh...-ish blood around his body, he’ll have enough healing power for the new heart.”

 

There were now tubes going from between the bodies, pumping Pierre’s blood into Peter and Peter's infected blood into blood-bags. 

 

"Hit his chest Stiles." Deaton ordered, and Stiles brought a fist down across where Peter's heart was. "Keep repeating it until-" 

 

“It beat.” Derek snapped, he was still by Isaac who had been put on the bench, his mouth covered in the boy’s blood. “Do it now, it‘s faint but its pumping.”

 

“Cut now.” Deaton nodded. Stiles took a deep breath as he sliced into Peter’s chest, purple goo oozed out around the blade and Stiles gagged at the foul smell that came with it. Stiles tried to block out the sound of the shank slicing through flesh, like someone squeezing an orange into pulp. 

 

“Ugh.” Stiles groaned with a grimace.

 

“Just be quick, don’t worry about being neat. He’s dead.” Stiles was about to argue that Peter’s not dead if his heart was beating, but glancing up he realised that Deaton was speaking to Boyd, who had his fist in Pierre’s chest. Boyd grunted and then yanked at something, Stiles heard a snap of what he assumed to be a rib.

 

“Here, let me.” Stiles didn’t have to look up to know that Derek was beside him.

 

“No! The Bane.” Stiles slapped Derek’s hand away.

 

“You can’t help him Derek.” Deaton said, syringing the purple pus out of the way as Stiles cut through Peter’s chest, separating his heart from his body. “Ok Boyd, bring it here, quickly.” He pointed to the heart that Boyd has already removed from Pierre’s chest.

 

“What are you going to do? Sew it in?” Stiles asked as Deaton switched the hearts. Stiles’s head felt funny and he wasn’t to sure if he was actually awake right now, maybe the knife had really hit him and he was in a coma right now.

 

“Derek, I need some of your blood.” Deaton said, ignoring Stiles. “It’ll help trigger Peter’s healing.”

 

Derek nodded, and without hesitation grabbed the scalpel from Boyd and speared the instrument into his hand with a grunt.

 

“Good.” Deaton said, arranging the heart with strange pliers, “Now drip it over each incision as I hold them together. Just don‘t touch him, he‘s still infected.”

 

Derek slashed into his hand again and again as his hand kept healing, allowing his blood to drip into Peter’s gaping chest.

 

“This is so gross on so many levels.” Stiles gagged again, as Deaton quicky began stitching up Peter’s chest. Derek cut his hand again and Deaton smeared the drips of blood across the stitches, and pushing down on his chest in rhythmic motions to re-start the new heart.

 

“We do not get paid enough for this.” Erica scrunched her nose, as she craned her neck from her position next to Isaac who still looked rather pale.

 

“He’s starting to heal.” Derek said, visibly relaxing. “I can hear his heart beat.”

 

Deaton sat back on his haunches. “Lahey. How’s he doing?”

 

“Transforming… and healing.” Derek brushed Peter’s hair from his forehead, not caring that he was smearing blood left from the healed wound on his hand across his uncle's face. The panic has subsided from the air now that no-one was dying. 

 

“So.” Boyd coughed tentatively. “Are you… vampires or something?”

 

“Don’t be _stupid_.” Stiles scoffed. “They’re werewolves.”

 

“Um. Remember who’s the guard and who’s the prisoner before you call one of us stupid.” Erica chimed in, from across the room.

 

“Remember who’s the one with a werewolf boyfriend before you start threatening me.” Stiles retorted, and Erica poked her tongue out in reply.

 

“Gerard is going to pay for this, don‘t worry Peter.” Derek muttered, still soothing his uncle’s forehead. The purple veins in Peter’s neck had faded, and although his chest hadn’t healed yet the gush of purple goo had been replaced by the slow seep of dark red blood.

 

“This is much bigger than just you and the Argents.” Boyd said. Derek and Stiles turned to him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Finstock has been missing for quite a while, and despite the rumours, he isn’t on holiday.”

 

“Its true.” Deaton sighed, “Harris has been causing a lot of problems, we have been fighting against him and the Argents for a while. This is just the tipping point.”

 

“Well that settles it then.” Derek said, his face darkening. “This is war.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhhh, when has peter ever stayed dead for long?


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You betrayed us to the Argents. YOU ALMOST KILLED STILES AND ISAAC. PETER DIED!”_

 

Stiles helped Derek, Boyd and Deaton haul Peter and Isaac’s unconscious bodies into Peter’s cell.

 

“Won’t they be safer in the hospital wing?” Asked Erica, picking at the dried blood on her hands as she followed them.

 

“It’s a full moon tonight.” Deaton grunted as he lifted Isaac’s feet onto his bunk. “It’ll be safer for everyone else if they’re locked up. Peter should gain consciousness in a few hours, he can help Isaac through it. Its not ideal but Scott‘s safe in solitary too.”

 

“How do you know so much? Are you a werewolf too?” Stiles asked as he tucked Isaac in, being careful of his cast.

 

“He’ll break that off during the transformation. He doesn’t need it now.” Deaton pointed at the cast. “And no. Derek would have been able to smell it if I was. I just know a lot about this stuff… my little sister was bit.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles said, not knowing what else to say.

 

“Yeah,” Deaton said distractedly as he fussed with Peter, checking his wounds as everyone crowded around the bunk. “She was bit by a rogue alpha when she was 14. The alpha didn’t stick around, didn’t explain anything so I dedicated my time to researching lycanthropy lore to help her... We should leave now, before the other prisoners start to come in.”

 

They all shuffled out and Erica locked the bars before they all drifted towards Derek and Stiles’s cell. Stiles felt really strange walking with guards, who were… not guarding them. Stiles and Derek stepped into their cell.

 

“If you meant what you said about a war. We want in.” Boyd was looking straight at Derek as he spoke. “All the way in.”

 

“You don’t know what you are asking.” Derek replied, resting his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

 

“We do.” Erica said, “Its you who doesn’t understand how big this battle is. We know what we are asking and we want it.” Derek’s jaw flexed and he nodded.

 

“Fine. Tomorrow then, after the full moon.”

 

Just then, the buzzer rang. Indicating prisoners returning to their cells.

 

“We better get out of here before people see the blood. We still have Pierre’s body to move.” Deaton said. Boyd nodded following Deaton and Erica into the showers.

 

Prisoners soon started to flow in, a few glancing in at Derek and Stiles, both still covered in blood. Stiles couldn't be bothered to react, he was so tense yet so drained, he didn't know if he wanted to run a mile or sleep for a week. Danny and Jackson walked past into their cell and Derek stiffened. Stiles felt his hand spasm on his neck before it was gone and Derek was gone. What? Stiles watched agape as Derek lunged forward tackling Jackson to the ground before dragging him up and pinning him to the wall.

 

“Jackson, I‘m going to kill you!” Derek snarled and Jackson visibly gulped.

 

“Wh-what’s he done?” Stiles asked running over. He was more than confused. 

 

Derek’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Danny had shrunk into the back of the cell.

 

“He reeks of bane.” Derek’s eyes kept flashing, nostrils flaring, as he tried to control himself. Jackson looked like he was going to piss his pants at any moment, Stiles didn't blame him. “You betrayed us to the Argents. YOU ALMOST KILLED STILES. AND ISAAC. PETER DIED!”

 

Derek was roaring, the rumble of it carrying through the air. Stiles could hear Prisoners nearby shuffling and craning their necks to look at what was going on, but not daring to intervene. Stiles spotted Chris and Gerard leaning against the wall outside of their cell, smiling wryly, and Sties felt the ghost of a rumble in his own chest. They were going to pay.

 

“You used?” Danny asked Jackson, looking betrayed. Jackson gawped like a fish, eyes darting between Derek’s rage and Danny’s disappointment.

 

“Yes, he fucking used.” Derek spat. Stiles's gaze snapped back from the Argents and he pushed forward to where Derek and Jackson stood.

 

“Derek!” Stiles exclaimed, reaching out to pull Derek’s hand back from where is was all but crushing Jackson’s windpipe. “Don’t kill him.”

 

Derek looked down at Stiles, breathing heavily, his eyes red and full of anger, but for some reason Stiles still wasn’t scared. At least not for himself.

 

“Oh my god, please don’t kill me, please don’t-” Jackson stuttered, his face white and shining with sweat.

 

“I’m not going to kill you, I‘m just going to make sure you never use again.” Derek’s face shifted and before Stiles could stop him Derek had lunged forward and sunk his teeth into Jackson’s collar bone as Jackson screamed.

 

“Argent! Back in your cell!” A guard interrupted Jackson’s scream, and Stiles tugged at Derek who was still latched onto the baner.

 

“Derek, the guards coming, we have to go back-” He was cut off by Derek lifting him up fireman-style and leaping into their cell in a very skilled manner just as the bars clanged shut behind them locking them in. Stiles would have commended him on his bond-like stealth only he was winded and still in shock from what Derek had done, so he just stayed stock still, doubled over where Derek had dropped him.

 

“Oh God, Stiles. Are you ok?” Stiles gaped in a breath and nodded hoping that his eyes weren’t watering too much. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Derek cupped his face, now back to normal.

 

“I’m okay.” Stiles gasped, “You just knocked the air out of me.”

 

“I don’t just mean about that, I mean for losing it just now.” Derek steered Stiles to his bunk and knelt between his legs ignoring Jackson still screaming in pain in his cell.

 

“Well, you're a fucking idiot!" Stiles slapped the back of his hand against Derek's chest exasperated. He looked down at Derek, between his knees. He looked so lost, eyebrows knotted together and Jackson's blood smeared across his chin. Stiles sighed. "But, its understandable.” He lifted his hand to run it through Derek’s hair. “You just watched your uncle die… and then be gruesomely resurrected, not to mention Isaac getting stabbed. God, I was tempted to kill Jackson myself.”

 

Stiles was still processing what had just happened. Jackson had betrayed them, had helped Argents trap them in exchange for bane, and he didn’t even share with Da- Oh god, _Danny_.

 

“Derek!“ Stiles jumped up, whacking his head on Derek’s bunk with a clank, but he didn't care. Derek immediately shot up to check Stiles’s head but Stiles just pushed him out of the way and flung himself towards the bars.

 

Jackson was still writing on the floor, screaming. The remnants of bane in his system making his transformation excruciating.

 

“You just locked Danny in a cell with a werewolf on his first full moon!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo the next chapter should calm down with the action for a little bit, and have more feeeeeeelings, because you know, a lot has happened in the last 3 chapters and I am sure you all have a headache.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Derek… will it kill him?” Stiles whispered, hoping that Jackson’s senses hadn't heightened enough for him to hear. Derek hesitated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok a quick chapter, as it'll probably be like a week till my next one as i have a buttload of assignments due! Enjoy.

 

 

“DO SOMETHING!” Stiles yelled at Derek, “DANNY, STAY AWAY FROM HIM, OKAY? Derek! Can‘t you break the bars or _something_?!”

 

  
Jackson had taken to violently vomiting black liquid into the toilet as Danny watched from the opposite site of the room, face a picture of horror.

 

“No.” Derek said, and Stiles turned to look at him. Derek was as white as Jackson had been moments before. He was watching Jackson wide-eyed. “Get him to bite you Danny. Now, before he loses control completely.”

 

Stiles gaped. “Have you lost your FUCKING MIND?!”

 

“It’s the only think I can think of that will work.” Derek turned around frustrated, and suddenly slammed his fist into the wall, and _hell no_.

 

“Derek!" Stiles barked. "I love you, but now is not the time for you to lose control on me. I am up to my eyes in this super-fucking-natural werewolf shit THAT I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR without you turning and mauling me too.”

 

Stiles felt like punching the wall too, but unfortunately his bones wouldn’t just crack and heal like Derek's were doing right now. Stiles settled for breathing deeply through his nose and looking back at Danny who was staring at the panting heap on the floor that was Jackson.

 

“He‘s just thrown up the bane. He‘ll be weak for another hour.” Derek explained to Danny. Danny, closed his eyes and nodded inching closer to Jackson.

 

“Jackson?” He asked, voice shaking as he crouched down slightly. “Did you hear Derek?” A long keening noise erupted from Jackson’s rumpled heap.

 

“He’s an omega Danny, so you need to both be willing.” Danny threw Derek a glare. “I know Danny, I know. But you have to both _agree_. Jackson, you only need to break the skin.”

 

“But the bane.” Jackson whined, spasming as he attempted to sit up. "It still hurts."

 

“Is mostly gone and what remains is in your blood stream.” Derek explained, putting his hands on the bars as he looked through. “Your saliva is what will be changing Danny.” He hit his head against the bars hard as he tried to look closer, Stiles flinched at the loud cracking sound upon impact.

 

“Derek. Hey, hey. Look at me.” Stiles reached out for the alpha placing a hand delicately on his head. He could feel the cracked skull beneath the skin, could feel it shifting.

 

“I’m fine.” Derek murmured, taking Stiles’s hand and squeezing it gently before letting it drop. Stiles was about to protest when Danny made a pained noise from his cell. Stiles turned to see Jackson draped over Danny’s lap, his mouth around Danny’s arm.

 

“I’m so sorry, Dan. I‘m sorry I‘m sorry.” Jackson sobbed as he drew his mouth back. Tears and snot covered his face and his mouth was red with blood. He made a sharp yelping sound as he convulsed again, falling off Danny’s lap. Danny scrambled away cradling his arm, still obviously afraid.

 

“It’s just the bane.” Derek said. “I can smell his body rejecting it.”

 

“Derek… will it kill him?” Stiles whispered, hoping that Jackson’s senses hadn’t heightened enough for him to hear. Derek hesitated.

 

“It shouldn’t.”

 

“That’s not very reassuring.” Stiles hissed.

 

“There’s about 5% chance that the bite itself could kill those bitten, but the younger you are the better your chances of survival. Oh fuck!” Derek swung around and hit the wall again before collapsing on Stiles’s bunk.

 

“Derek.” Stiles said softly, perching on the bed next to him.

 

“I’ve really fucked up.” Derek whispered leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. Stiles hesitated unsure of what to do as Derek hunched over himself.

 

“Derek.” Stiles repeated softly, placing a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay.”

 

“But its _not_ okay.” Derek said, his voice thick. “I _killed_ a man. I turned Isaac and Jackson, Danny too. You almost _died_ , Stiles... Peter _died_.” Stiles could see tears splattering on the fabric of Derek’s sweats.

 

“Shhh.” Stiles hushed, scooting in, resting his cheek on Derek’s shoulder. Derek suddenly felt so small to Stiles, like Stiles could wrap himself around Derek and protect him. Stiles wished he could protect him. 

 

“I don’t know what I would have done if I lost him Stiles. He’s all the family I have left. I kn- I know he’s crazy sometimes but he’s not _bad_. The Argents just made him like that, he was never like that.” Stiles reached through Derek’s arms to cup his face and pull his head into his chest.

 

“I know. I believe you.” Stiles could feel the dampness on Derek's cheeks as he stroked the pad of his thumb across Derek's cheekbone repeatedly. 

 

“You would have loved him before, Stiles.“ Derek sniffed, and Stiles dragged his fingers through Derek’s hair, resting his cheek on the top of his head. “He was so witty and clever. Like you.” Derek sniffed again, a smile in his voice now. “He used to try and get me and my brother to join him when he took his daughters shopping. He said _‘even boys should know what colours compliment their skin tone_ ’.” Stiles huffed, he didn’t think he could imagine Peter doing something as fun and casual as shopping.

 

“I bet our sweat suits are awful for him.” Stiles smiled, and he felt Derek’s body shake in a silent laugh.

 

“Danny and Jackson will be okay.” Derek said, pulling out of Stiles’s hold and wiping his hands over his face. The cell opposite them had been quiet for a while. Stiles peered over and saw them both curled up in foetal positions on the floor.

 

“How do you- Can you smell it?” Stiles asked Derek. Derek nodded, confirming the transformations.

 

“They’ll be awake in a bit. Isaac too. Once the moon comes out.”

 

“Okay.” Stiles said, because what else could he say.

  

They were both silent for a long while, just sitting on the bunk, sides touching.

 

“What you said before… when we were-” Derek started, pointing over to the spot where they had been standing at the bars.

 

“Oh,” Stiles’s heart dropped as he remembered what he had shouted. “I was just angry Derek, I didn’t mean it." He paused. "Well… I did.” He sighed, “This whole thing _is_ fucked up, and I’m trying to handle it as best as I can but its _scary_ Derek. Really fucking scary. I’m a _human_ , and I always thought that meant I was strong. We are supposed to be at the top of the food chain. But then to find out that there are supernatural people who look human, but can shift, and have super-strength and can heal. I mean, its _amazing_. You are amazing. But its fucking terrifying too.”

 

“I’m so sor-” Derek began, but Stiles stopped him again.

 

“No don’t. Don’t apologise for what you are, for what you were born as. That’s like someone apologising for being Canadian, or gay. You don’t choose these things. I’m not terrified of _you_ Derek. I trust you. I feel _safe_ with you as insane as that sounds. I’m just terrified of the world, something that already petrified me. The world is scary enough as it is, and one of the only comforting things about becoming an adult is knowing what is real and what’s not real… and now… I don’t.” Stiles inhaled deeply. letting out a shaky laugh. “And do you want to know what the most fucked up part is?”

 

“What?” Derek whispered, his voice small.

 

“The thing I’m most scared of this that this _isn’t_ real. That this fucked up prison isn’t real. That somehow it was _me_  that got shot and am in a coma and am just _dreaming_ about hunters and werewolves… just dreaming about you.”

 

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek said, moving forward and cupping Stiles’s face in his hands. “Look at me.” When Stiles didn’t Derek lifted his head up until their gazes met. “This _is_ real. I am real. All the fucking _shit_ that has happened to us is real.” Derek’s nostrils flared as he continued. “Me fucking up and biting Jackson was real. Peter dying today was real. We are _so fucking real_.”

 

“Good.” Stiles nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth in assurance. Derek smiled tentatively.

 

“And the other thing you said?“ Stiles frowned, not knowing what Derek was referring to. “You can really still love me after all of this?” Stiles's face relaxed. 

 

“I love all of you, at your best and worst.” Stiles stroked his finger along the side of Derek nose to catch a lingering tear. “As long as you want me too.” He smiled.

 

“Its impossible not to love you, Stiles.” Derek said, his face earnest. “Really, I- _I love you so fucking much_.” Derek's chin crumpled, and Stiles, worried that Derek was going to cry again, jammed his mouth on top of his harshly.

 

Their teeth dug into each others lips but neither cared. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, wanting to make him as close as possible, to mash their bodies together so they could never be separated. He wanted Derek, all of him, even if Derek turned into a full-blow dog, Stiles knew he still wanted him.

 

Derek pulled Stiles’s head into his neck so they were now in a tight embrace, Derek holding him so firmly that Stiles thought his wish was going to come true. Not that it bothered Stiles, not at all. He would happily spend eternity locked in Derek’s arms like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh smushy lovey dovey crap. How it embarrasses me that I write you.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know Jackson, just because I tried to pull Derek off you doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you!” Stiles called back. “You almost killed Isaac!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woops its been a while!  
> Luckily for you theres only like once more chapter to go and then you wont have to put up with my erratic updates anymore! YAY

 

Stiles didn’t get much sleep that night. Nobody on the block did. The howls of Jackson and Danny mingled with the echoes of Isaac’s. And Stiles could have sworn, if he listened really hard, he could hear Scott too. 

 

As he was eventually about to drift off into a light sleep he was awoken by a rattling on the bars of his cell. He opened his eyes to see Erica rattling her baton against the iron. 

 

“Wakey wakey.” She hissed, Stiles didn’t know why she chose to be stealthy now, when her rattling had no doubt woken half of the prisoners, but he groaned and detached himself from an already awake Derek. 

 

“Have you checked on Isaac and Peter?” Stiles mumbled digging his palm into his eye blearily.

 

“They’re fine.” Boyd said, as he came into view. 

 

“And Danny?” Stiles tried to peer over Boyd and Erica were blocking his view of the opposite cell. 

  

“Fine.” Boyd shrugged. 

  

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking.” Jackson snapped from his cell. 

 

“You know Jackson, just because I tried to pull Derek off you doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you!” Stiles called back. “You almost killed Isaac!” 

  

“Ok boys,” Erica sighed, “Enough bickering, we have work to do.” She jangled her keys in front of Stiles as if that proved a point, before unlocking his cell and marching over to Derek who had so far remained silent. 

  

“Erica.” Derek greeted from where he was sitting up now, cross-legged behind Stiles. 

  

“We don’t have long before Harris comes in. His shift starts in an hour.” Erica got straight to the point, something that Derek approved of judging by his expression. “So far I don’t think the Argents have been able to contact him about our moves. He left straight after whatever happened in the showers. I don’t know why, but we think it has something to do with Finstock.” 

  

“If Harris isn’t here that gives us a huge advantage, right?” Stiles asked leaning forward. 

 

 

“Yes, but like I said he will be back soon, and we need to be able to fight before he’s here.” 

 

 

“Deaton said you need all the pack you can get.” Boyd said, stepping forward. Derek nodded. “So we need to break Scott out of solitary.” 

 

 

“Shouldn’t that be easy?” Stiles asked, confused. “You guys are guards, you have the key.” 

 

 

“No.” Erica pouted, “Only the solitary block guards have access to that. Plus, we wont have time if we are transforming.”  

 

 

“Deaton has run us through what to expect.” Boyd explained, “He said it’ll take an hour. You saw Danny last night.” 

 

 

“So what are we waiting for?!” Stiles asked, jumping up. The others looked at him surprised. “Give me your jacket and the keys.” Stiles put his hands out to Boyd. 

 

 

“Stiles, what are you-” Derek started. 

 

 

“I’m getting shit done.” Stiles said, “You sort out these two,” He gestured to the two guards, “and me and the others will rescue Scott.” Boyd handed Stiles the keys and his jacket, and after a pause his shirt. 

 

 

“This way two of you can use it.” Boyd muttered. 

 

 

“Good idea.” Erica said before casually stripping as well. “What? This will let four of you walk around without getting attention from the CCTV.”  

 

 

Stiles sighed and grabbed the clothes, zipping Boyd’s jacket over his sweatshirt. Fortunately the guards wore grey cargo pants which didn’t look all that different from the baggy sweatpants Stiles wore. 

 

 

“Be careful.” Derek warned Stiles, looking at him meaningfully. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he walked over to unlock Danny and Jackson’s cell. 

 

 

“Hold up, you are not coming with me.” Stiles shoved Jackson, who had been about to follow Danny out. Jackson looked affronted and his eyes shone omega-blue, when Stiles heard a growl behind him. He turned, expecting to see his protective alpha boyfriend, but it was Danny who was growling, his own eyes glowing gold. 

 

_Huh_ , Stiles thought. Derek had made it seem like Scott had to do some weird ritual to become his beta, but Derek hadn’t even spoken to Danny after he’d turned. Stiles wondered if Isaac’s eyes were gold too.

 

 

“I think you have to earn our trust again, Jackson.” Danny said, and Jackson immediately slunk back, visibly upset at Danny’s anger towards him. 

 

 

“Danny-” Jackson pleaded, expression pained. 

 

 

“If you want to help. Join Derek’s pack with me, and then we‘ll talk.” Danny said. 

 

 

“But-” Jackson protested. 

 

 

“Us turning was _your_ fault.” Danny cut him off, “You and your selfish addiction. Derek has done us a favour.” and with that Danny stalked off. 

 

 

“Did you mean that?” Stiles asked jogging slightly to catch up with him and handing him Boyd’s shirt.

 

 

“Yeah, my eyes are yellow aren‘t they?” Danny nodded, as they stopped outside Peter and Isaac’s cell. 

 

 

“Yeah… like how did you suddenly become a beta?” Stiles questioned. Danny shrugged. 

 

 

“I don’t know, I just kind of… thought of Derek as my alpha, and I guess he accepted me as a beta?” 

 

 

“Like _telepathically?_ ” Stiles asked. Danny made a bemused face. 

 

 

“I don’t fucking know! Ask Derek, he’s the alpha.” 

 

 

“Ok, just one more question?” Stiles said.

 

 

“No.” Danny replied.

 

 

“As Derek’s boyfriend, does that make me kind of your boss too?”

 

 

Danny ignored him, and Stiles made an affronted face as he fiddled with the keys to open the cell gate. 

 

 

“I trust you two heard the conversation from down the corridor.” Stiles said to Peter and Isaac who had been standing just inside their cell waiting for them. Stiles threw them Erica’s clothes and they caught them swiftly. 

 

 

“The important one, or your little chit-chat with Danny?” Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the boy, there was something different about him, now that he was a wolf. He seemed to stand taller (had he always been taller than Stiles?) and was that _sass_ he had just given Stiles? 

 

 

“So, what is the plan my boy?” Peter asked Stiles, raising an eyebrow. 

 

 

“Uh… I think we’re gonna have to make it up as we go along.” Stiles said. He hadn't really thought it through beyond 'must rescue Scott'.

 

 

“You are just so lucky I happen to be an evil genius.” Peter sighs dramatically, shaking his head as he strode past them as though he hadn’t been dead a few hours ago. 

 

 

\---

 

 

Apparently this wasn’t Peter’s first exploit around the prison.

 

 

"Its amazing what you can get away with when people think you're catatonic."  Peter chuckled. "All these secrets people tell you, thinking you're too drugged up to remember. If only they knew."

 

 

"So you snuck out?" Danny asked, soaking up Peter's words with awe. Peter nodded with a mischievous smile.

 

 

“The psych-ward has key-codes instead of actual keys.” He explained as he lead them a way that was supposed to be devoid of watch-guards, “And the food in there is even worse than the cafeteria crap, so you can understand my desperation.” 

 

 

Two corridors down they had stopped at a lone door which Peter opened with Boyd’s keys to reveal a store room. 

 

 

“Now you hear that?” Peter asked, more to Isaac and Danny than Stiles. 

 

 

“All I hear are pipes.” Danny said confused. 

 

 

“Exactly.” Peter said, knocking at the wall to reveal a poorly boarded up hole. “Its always good to find out when other prisoners have escape plans which you can use to your advantage.” He ripped the hole’s cover away effortlessly to reveal a dark, corridor full of pipes and plumbing for the prison. 

 

 

“Wait, does this lead outside of the prison?” Stiles gaped. Peter laughed. 

 

 

“No, unfortunately I don’t think they give the prisoners here the correct blue prints. However I know where it leads, and it’s the direction we want to go in. Humans first.” Peter flourished an arm at Stiles, gesturing for him to enter, before following himself, Isaac and Danny close behind. 

 

 

The walkway smelt damp and metallic and every now and again Stiles would jump as a droplet of water fell onto his head. 

 

 

“So… How come you didn’t howl once last night?” Danny asked Peter. “Were you still unconscious?” 

 

 

“Hardly, like I’d be able to sleep with that racquet. I can just control it, you will learn to as well.” Peter answered pointedly as he lead the way.

 

 

“How?” Isaac asked, tilting his head.

 

 

“An anchor. You’ll find an anchor. Something that reminds you of your human side, that keeps you grounded.” 

 

 

“So, you and Derek have these anchors?” Isaac pushed. Peter smirked a little, obviously liking this new confident Isaac. 

 

 

“Yes, but they can easily change. For instance, Derek’s anchor used to be anger, for a long time. But you changed that, Stiles. When you showed him how to love again.” Stiles wrinkled his nose in response, trying to suppress a grin. Peter's mouth quirked as if he knew, and Stiles wondered if his heart had given him away. 

 

 

“And yours?” Isaac probed, earning an eyebrow raise from Peter (god damn, could everyone do it but Stiles?).  

 

 

“For a long time it was my wife and children, and then revenge, for the _death_ of my wife and children… and now,” He looked up thoughtfully, “I suppose its hope, the realisation that not _all_ that I love has been vanquished.” 

 

 

“Derek.” Stiles said. And Peter smiled, a little more genuinely this time and nodded. 

 

 

“You should never underestimate the simple power of human love, even if you share blood with a wolf.” 

 

 

“So it can be another person.. Or um, werewolf?” Danny asked. 

 

 

“Yes, although I would think again before considering that treacherous _shit_ of a boyfriend you have as one.” Peter said, voice darkening as he turned a corner, beckoning for them to follow. 

 

 

“Jackson’s sorr-” Danny started but Peter raised a hand to stop him. 

 

 

“He was just lucky it wasn’t the other way around. Jackson would be dead right now.” There was a brief silence as Peter sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not as kind as my nephew, not anymore, despite my new anchor.” 

 

 

“Derek‘s not exactly the epitome of kind.” Danny snorted, and received warning glares from all three of the other inmates. 

 

 

“He didn’t kill Jackson last night, in fact he healed you both from your addiction. I’m betting you are feeling better than ever, you sure look it.” Stiles noticed it was true as Peter said it. Danny’s skin no longer had the dull pallor so common with baners. His ribs and cheekbones no longer stood out in a sickly way and his muscles looked more defined, like he’d switched the bane for steroids. Peter continued. “He could have gone after the Argents to avenge me…” 

 

 

“Yet he stayed to save my life.” Isaac pointed out. Peter placed an approving hand of Isaac's shoulder as they turned yet another corner of the never-ending passage. 

 

 

“Not to mention all his help as your little group’s body guard before-hand, and not once did he ask for anything in return. So yes, despite his grumpy façade, he is kind and gentle and strong. And you’d do well to recognise those as important qualities in a pack leader.” 

 

 

“Actions speak louder than facial expressions.” Stiles hummed to himself, although all the super-sonic hearing wolves overheard. Peter turned to him with another one of those genuine smiles. 

 

 

“I do like you, Stiles.” Peter reached a hand out and Stiles thought he was going to pat his shoulder too, but instead his hand fell on Stiles’s chest, halting him. He put a finger to his lips as they stood staring at a brick wall. 

 

 

“I don’t hear anyone.” Whispered Isaac. 

 

 

“Never hurts to make sure.” Peter said, “This next bit can get a tad noisy.” Stiles shared a bemused look between Isaac, Danny and the solid brick wall they were in front of, before Peter started tapping away at the cement around some of the bricks, his wolf-strength making the cement fall down in huge chunks.

 

 

“Is this going to lead us to Diagon Alley?” Isaac asked, his voice deadpan. “Because I’ve always wanted an owl.” 

 

 

Danny snorted and Peter rolled his eyes. 

 

 

“Wow,” Stiles said with a smile. “You’ve transformed into one cocky bastard.” 

 

 

“I think Derek may have given me some of the Hale sass when he bit me.” Isaac frowned, and Stiles honestly couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. 

 

 

“Don’t worry.” Peter mock-whispered to Stiles as he continued to work the wall. “It’ll calm down a bit after his first few transformations, he’ll get used to all the super-powery stuff and go back to his humble self.. more or less.” 

 

 

He bent his knees and dug his fingers into the wall, around the large circle of bricks which he had chipped the cement from and pulled. The circle of bricks came away effortlessly as though Peter was making a hole in jell-o instead of a fucking wall. 

 

 

“Well hurry up, we don’t have all freakin’ day.” Peter said slowly placing the circle of bricks on the floor, and the three guys scampered through the hole followed by Peter. 

 

 

“Uh.. What are we gonna do with that?” Stiles asked pointing at the hole. Peter shrugged. 

 

 

“Hope no-one notices it in the twenty minutes it’ll take us to get to Scott?” Peter said. “What? I never said I was a genius.” 

 

 

“I remember you saying exactly that.” Argued Danny. 

 

 

“In fact, the words were _evil genius._ ” Isaac added. 

 

 

“Come on guys.“ Stiles sighed. They didn’t have time to fuck around if they wanted to get the keys to Scott and return to Derek in time. 

 

 

The hole they had climbed out of was situated in a narrow end corridor so hopefully if any guards were to pass it wouldn’t be overly noticeable. 

 

 

“So, Wilson or Turner should be on duty in the solitary watch room.” Peter explained, his voice a low hush as they walked, carefully now, towards the solitary block. “These keys will get us into the guard’s room, but not into the cell block itself, now hopefully it’s Turner on guard. He covered a couple of night-shifts in the psych block, and he’s a napper. But Wilson will be harder.” 

 

 

“I could offer to blow him?” Danny suggested. 

 

 

“I’ve heard you sucking off Jackson, somehow I don’t think that’d be enough… If it was Stiles on the other hand-” 

 

 

“No!” Stiles protested, and then clamped his hand over his mouth instantly. They all stood stock still, the werewolves pricking up their ears momentarily before relaxing. 

 

 

“I was kidding… Derek would kill me, and I think one death a week is enough.” Peter said. “No one has to provide any sexual favours, we’re fucking werewolves for gods sake, if we can’t over-power a human guard I think we’ve got more problems than just saving Scott. Now, shall we?” 

 

 

They all walked slowly up to the side of the large glass window that looked into the guard’s room and Peter craned is neck to try and glimpse inside. 

 

 

“It’s Turner.” Peter said breathing a sigh of relief. 

 

 

“Is he sleeping?” Hissed Stiles. Peter nodded. 

 

 

“Ok, Stay here, I’ll be a second.” He knelt down and crawled on all fours to the other side of the window to the door. If Stiles’s brain wasn’t panicking about all the shit that could still go down, he would have been making doggy jokes in his head. Peter knelt back up once he reached the door and lifted Boyd’s keys up to the keyhole. 

 

 

He fiddled slowly and silently with the keys until he must've heard a faint click because he let go before turning the doorknob and creaking slowly pushing the door open. Stiles did’t know how he did it so silently and stealthily. As soon as Peter slithered into the gap in the door Stiles craned his neck to watch Peter move inside the room. 

 

 

Peter, back on his feet now, tiptoed over to the desk where Turner was slumped forwards, head on his arms. Stiles could see the keys on the guard’s belt. He held his breath. Within moments Peter had the keys in his hand. Stiles expects Peter to come straight back, but instead he leaned over Turner. What the fuck was he doing? Peter reached a hand out towards a piece of paper beneath Turner’s elbow and inched it out. Stiles had to resist the urge to flail in frustration, before Peter snatched his hand back and crept back out of the office. 

 

 

 _What was that about?_ Stiles mouthed as Peter closed the door. 

 

 

“Scott’s cell number.” Peter whispered back, beckoning them to duck under the window to join him. 

 

 

“Okay, maybe you are an evil genius.” Stiles whispered, because he hadn’t even thought about that. 

 

 

“He’s in eleven.” Peter replied, no longer whispering, but voice still quiet and soft as he opened the barred gate into the block. 

 

 

It was evident that they had indeed needed the cell number when they entered because unlike their barred, cage-like cells, solitary cells were just massive steel box next to massive steel box, with nothing more than a tinny like shutter to provide any view into the cells. 

 

 

“Hey, Scott?” Isaac said once they reached number eleven. He must’ve heard some sort of reply because after a second he smiled. Peter quickly opened the door to the little room and the heavy metal door swung open with a low creak revealing Scott beaming on the other side. 

 

 

His smile, quickly turned into confusion when he noticeably sniffed the air. 

 

 

“You two…” Scott gawped at Isaac and Danny like a fish out of water. 

 

 

“Yes, yes. Werewolves are everywhere now. Come on we don’t have time.” Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm and dragged him out of the cell ready to creep back out unnoticed. 

 

 

\---

 

 

They caught Scott up on the mayhem that had occurred since his solitary confinement and the reason why they were breaking him out on their way back to the storage room.   

 

 

“I’m sorry Isaac, I shouldn’t have lost it so fast with Matt, I should have been there to protect you.” Scott looked so disappointed in himself, like a kid who had just received and F on their chemistry final. 

 

 

“Don’t be.” Isaac said, ducking under a low hanging pipe in the passageway, and wrapping an arm around Scott. “I can look after myself now. We can protect each other.” 

 

 

Peter rolled his eyes at the two boys as Scott stretched his neck to place a chaste kiss on Isaac’s jaw. 

 

 

“How long do you think this took?” Asked Stiles as they finally reached the hole that lead to the supply closet. 

 

 

“No idea, fifty minutes? And hour maybe?” Peter replied as he ducked through. Stiles went to follow him out, got two steps and then bumped into Peter’s back. 

 

 

“What is it?” Danny asked, his voice low as he joined Stiles. Peter breathed in slowly, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated. 

 

 

“I think… I think someone is outside.” He said. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuuuuuuuun


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Finstock!” Erica called, “Sir? Are you okay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo final chapter, expect for the epilogue which i am uploading right now, so yay no wait!

 

“Fuck.” Stiles’s face collided with the cold hard floor of the cafeteria. He heard the thumps of Peter, Isaac, Danny and Scott joining him on the floor. He wriggled around into an almost sitting position, grunting as the metal handcuffs twisted his wrist. 

 

“Oh stop whining.” A guard snapped, kicking Danny who had been whimpering as the bane-infused rope caused his skin to blister. Peter growled deep in his throat.  

 

“Bad dog!” The other guard said to Peter, spraying him with liquid from a spray bottle that caused his skin to immediately start to sizzle. Peter just glared at the guard, who laughed. 

 

“Where‘s Harris? He should be here by now.” The first guard asked the second. 

 

“Indeed I should.” Harris’s sickly voice trailed into the room. Stiles looked towards the door where he was entering, followed by Gerard Argent, Chris, and some gang members dragging- 

 

Stiles’s heart dropped when one by one Erica, Boyd and Derek were hauled in, also bound. They were thrown unceremoniously on top of the others, Derek sprawling across Stiles’s lap with a grunt. 

 

“I thought you’d be pleased to be re-united with your lover, Derek.” Gerard taunted. Derek scowled and tried to upright himself. 

 

“Hey Derek,” Stiles whispered in a low voice so only the wolves would be able to hear. “Where’s Jackson?” 

 

“He ran away, unreliable jerk.” Derek muttered, and Stiles could see Danny hang his head out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“Well this is not how I imagined this panning out.” Huffed Erica, who was trying to adjust herself so that the over-sized sweatshirt she was wearing to replace her guards’ uniform shielded her from the ropes as much as possible. Boyd looked away from her and did a double take at the two guards that had ambushed Stiles and the others. 

 

“Evans? Smith?” He looked hurt, “You’re working with Harris?!” 

 

Stiles sighed internally. He should have known that Harris would have croonies within the guards, but that should also have been Erica and Boyd’s job to suss them out, right? 

 

“Well isn’t this lovely, the whole pack. Derek you have been busy.” Gerard drawled, and Stiles rolled his eyes hoping this wasn’t going to turn onto a bond-villain speech. “Minus one little deserter of course, but is an omega really a deserter?” 

 

Stiles purposely looked away from Danny, not wanting to see his reaction to Jackson’s betrayal. There was a pause, broken only by a couple of chinking sounds as one of the many bullets that had been shot at them earlier dropped out of the werewolves, their bodies trying to heal despite the rope. 

 

“Can you just get on with it? Stiles barked, earning panicked glances from several of the pack members. Stiles ignored them, the smell of burning skin was really starting to piss him off and he wondered briefly if Peter was getting flashbacks of the fire. “Just get down to the vengeance part, we don’t need a speech, unless you were planning on boring us as punishment.” 

 

“Well aren‘t you a quirky little thing, Stilinski.” Gerard smiled and snapped his fingers at two of the croonies. The two burly guys marched forward and hauled Stiles up by his armpits, causing snarls to erupt from Derek and Peter. 

 

If Stiles wasn’t getting manhandled by two smelly guys he would have probably taken the time to feel heartened by Peter’s protest. It was like he was confirming Stiles as his family, which reminded Stiles he hadn’t actually thanked Peter for saving his life the day before.  

 

Stiles struggled as he was pulled over to stand beside Gerard, and debated spitting in his face, but the sight of his pack panting on the ground stopped him, now was not the time to provoke violence. 

 

“Are you religious, Stilinski?” Gerard asked curiously. Stiles just glowered in response, wondering if playing along would be better or worse. “I am. You know what my favourite quote is? Hm?” 

 

“Obviously not ‘thou shalt not kill’.” Stiles muttered. Gerard just smiled again, Stiles was starting to see a resemblance to the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, it had always scared him as a kid.

 

“No, it’s a lovely Leviticus quote… right under that man shal not lie with man stuff; ‘And if man lie with beast, he shall surely be put to death: and ye shall slay the beast.’” Gerard quoted, “So you see, by killing you and Derek, we are just carrying out God’s will. Twice.” 

 

“’And if woman approach unto any beast, and lie down thereto, though shall kill the woman.’” Stiles quoted back, because yeah, two could play at that game. “And if that’s the case, your daughter’s death was just an act of God and the Hales were just messengers.” He sighed, “Anyone can take parts of religious text to try and justify their action, and if I remember correctly Mel wasn’t a beast, nor did he fuck a beast, and you still strung him up. Was that for God too?” 

 

“No, he was just collateral. Speaking of…” Gerard tugged harshly at Stiles’s hair like he was weeding a garden and huffed a laugh. “Bring him in.” He said, to the door. 

 

The door opened and Matt came in, dragging a beaten and unconscious Finstock. Matt’s face was still deformed from the cuts Scott had left, and when his eyes landed on Isaac he smirked so wide it looked painful. 

 

“Finstock!” Erica called, “Sir? Are you okay.” 

 

“He can’t hear you, you dumb bitch.” Either Evans or Smith spat at her. 

 

“Back off, Smith.” Warned Boyd, his eyes flashing gold. 

 

“Hmm? And what would happen if I didn’t?” The guard, Smith, teased, crouching down next to Erica and reaching out a hand. “You going to stop me from touching her?” He stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. “From killing her?” Erica strained her neck as Smith’s hand wrapped around it. “From _fucking_ her?” He grabbed one of her breasts roughly causing a chorus of growls to erupt from the wolves. 

 

“Jesus, its like a freakin’ choir.” Chris snorted before tilting his head. “I wonder what else can make them sing.” He strolled up to his father, and Stiles. “Maybe this?” He asked, and his fist flew into Stiles’s stomach. Stiles doubled over and gasping as he tried to get the air to come back to his lungs. The wolves snarled in unison, a few of them snapping their teeth. “Or maybe…” Chris pulled out a shank, and dragged the flat side along Stiles's jaw and, to his throat. 

 

“Leave him alone!” Shouted Scott, his voice rumbling.  

 

“You’re right,” Chris sighed. “I suppose we should get down to business.” 

 

A groan came from next to Stiles, where Matt was still holding Finstock. 

 

“Hmgf” Finstock groaned, regaining consciousness. “No. No more.” He whispered, instinctively curling himself up. 

 

“Why kidnap Finstock though, its not like he was a big hindrance to your drug dealing? ” Asked Stiles, because this was the only thing that was baffling him.

 

“Oh Stiles.” Gerard looked at him, pity and disappointment in his eyes. “This isn’t about _drugs_. That’s just a side-project to help fund our plan.” 

 

“Plan?” Because, okay, maybe a villainous monologue was needed after all. 

 

“Now, I don’t know if you know this Stiles, but see your wolfy pals over there? They can get out of here, any time they want to.” Stiles frowned, because that didn’t make sense, otherwise Derek wouldn‘t be here. “And, I don’t know if you have realised this yet, but these aren’t the only werewolves in the world.” 

 

“He wants to expose us.” Peter huffed, from his spot on the floor. “You’re going to frame us for Finstock’s death, and make the criminal justice system aware of our kind.” 

 

“Indeed, just think how better the world will be when we can finally have a facility to round you all up and contain you.” Gerard said. 

 

“Wow, how original.” Peter snarked, rolling his eyes before getting a swift kick from Evans. 

 

Chris knelt down beside Finstock, who was still curled over, and dragged him up by the throat. Finstock winced, one of his eyes so swollen it was barely visible, as Chris took his shank and cut at his shirt tearing it open. 

 

“Now, as an expert,” Chris glanced over at Derek. “What would a beast go for first, I want to make this as realistic as possible… His intestines maybe?” 

 

“You don’t want to do this.” Derek said sternly. Stiles looked over to the pack and saw that they had all shifted. Their fangs were out, faces warped into snarls and eyes glowing gold, except for Derek’s red. Chris laughed and prodded the shank into Finstock’s trembling body, drawing blood just as a whistle filled the air. 

 

Chris fell to the floor with a thud, another whistle and Evans dropped The Argents looked wildly around as two more men fell to the floor. Stiles dropped to the ground too, but not because he was hit. He crawled over to Evan’s limp body, and could see the guard’s eyes following him as he came closer, and shimmied around to grab the keys at his belt. 

 

Stiles fiddled with the key and cuffs behind his back and looked up to see _Jackson_ jumping out of an air-vent at the top of the wall. Jackson landed in a crouching position, dropping what appeared to be a blow-gun he'd been firing, as his eyes flashed gold. Stiles’s hands were free but he stayed on the ground as guns started firing from the two remaining Argent guards, bullets pummelling Jackson, who kept staggering forward. Stiles broke free of the cuffs and grabbed Evans’s gun shooting Smiths’s gun out of his hand. The gun landed beside Finstock who had fallen to the floor. Smith retreated, clutching his hand to his chest.  

 

One of the Argent inmates tried to lasso Jackson with one of the bane-infused ropes. Jackson just ripped it off as if it were dental floss. The retreating cries of a couple of Argent members rang out as they scrambled away, Matt included. 

 

“COWARDS!” Yelled Gerard as he braced himself, knife in hand. Jackson was still being pelted with Harris’s bullets, but he barely noticed as he circled Gerard. Then suddenly after another bang Harris was on the ground, hole in his head, blood pooling around him. Stiles’s eyes darted to his side where Finstock was spread-eagled on the floor, hands shaking as he held the gun still aimed at Harris. 

 

All that was left standing of the Argents was Gerard. Knife still poised, waiting for Jackson to attack. Stiles scrambled over to Derek, and began fumbling with the rope, still watching Jackson as he did. 

 

“Look what he’s done to you, Jackson. He’s poisoned you, turned you into a monster.” Gerard spat. 

 

“No.” Jackson growled, “You were the one who got me hooked on poison. You don’t understand. We are no different, we feel, we love. And you exploit that love, treat us like animals. _You_ are the monster, not us.” 

 

“You can’t bite me Jackson. You’re not an Alpha like Derek was when he bit you, and I have bane in my veins.” Gerard sneered. 

 

“Yes? Well your bane bullets and rope didn’t seem to affect me, did they?” Jackson sneered back. “I guess I must be immune.” 

 

A look of horror swept over Gerards face as Jackson struck like a snake. Gerard’s arm dropped to his side, the knife seeming redundant as Jackson latched onto his throat and dragged his teeth across splitting him open. Gerard gargled on blood, the shocked expression fixed on his face as he keeled over, his blood gushing on the floor to mix with Harris’s. 

 

Jackson wiped the blood from his mouth, panting, as Stiles ripped the final piece of rope from Derek's wrist. 

 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asked, patting him all over as though that was any fucking help at all. Stiles let out a shaky breath.

 

“Yep, just peachy.” He said, as he watched Deaton jump out from where he had been hiding in the air-vent throughout and began to help untie the wolves. 

 

“Are you really immune?” Danny asked as Jackson rushed to untie him. 

 

“No,” Jackson admitted. “Deaton just gave me this weird herbal stuff that makes it temporarily redundant. I’m probably going to be in agony later.” 

 

“What did you put in the blow darts?” Stiles asked Deaton, nodding to the men sprawled onto the floor, their eyes still blinking. 

 

“A mixture of snake and spider venom, that causes temporary paralysis… at least I _think_ its temporary.” Deaton pulled a face as he helped Erica wriggle out of the rope. 

 

“Sir, are you okay?” Erica rushed over to Finstock, who hadn’t moved since shooting Harris. She kneeled down, and gently pried the gun from his hands. 

 

“I’m going to have to do so much paperwork.” Finstock moaned. 

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And now? Whats going to happen to everyone?”_   
> 

 

Two days later Derek and Stiles were in the library during yard time. The others had insisted that now, without the reign of the Argents they were going to soak up as much sunshine as they could (especially since Boyd promised to smuggle in ice cream), but Stiles and Derek found themselves alone, looking back over Isaac’s case notes instead.  

 

“Erica said they found Matt drowned in his own toilet this morning.” Stiles said as he dumped a stack of files on the little table and plonked down onto the chair beside Derek. “Apparently without the Argents to protect him his past finally caught up with him.” 

 

“Who?” asked Derek looking up. “Isaac?” 

 

“Nope.“ Stiles said. “It was actually Pervy Paul.” 

 

“Wow,” Derek raised his brows. “Somehow I don’t mind him watching me in the shower as much anymore.” 

 

“Well I still do!” Protested Stiles. Derek winked in reply, and turned back to the page he was reading. 

 

“Derek?“  Stiles asked after a pause. 

 

“Yes, Stiles?“ 

 

“Gerard said you can get out anytime… Why didn’t you before?”

 

“I can’t break through steel bars, you saw that when Isaac… you know. But I can jump over the fence and run at 30mph.” 

 

“Yeah.. But why didn’t you break out?” Derek shrugged.

 

“Peter was sick. _I_ could escape, but he wasn’t strong enough to… and it wasn’t safe… I had to look out for him… and then when he was better you came along, and I didn’t _want_ to leave.” 

 

“And now? Whats going to happen to everyone?” 

 

“Well,” Derek shrugged, “we still don’t know how much Finstock may be able to shave off everyone’s sentences for saving the prison… and covering for him killing Harris. Scott only has a couple of months anyway. If this appeal works out then Isaac will be free soon. As long as you don’t get into anymore trouble you can apply for parole in a few months, and Danny and Jackson in a year…” Derek sighed.

 

“And you and Peter?” Stiles licked his lips nervously. 

 

“I will stay here with you until you go. And to keep an eye out for Danny and Jackson… especially Jackson.” Derek smiled. “And then it’s up to whether the pack can live with a fugitive alpha, and you a fugitive boyfriend.” 

 

“Hm, well I’m not sure my dad would approve, what with him being a sheriff and all.” Stiles smiled teasingly. “But I think we can work it out.”

 

“The Hales are rich if that helps.” Derek winked playfully and Stiles laughed.  

 

“You’d really break out to be with me?” He asked, walking his fingers across the table to where Derek's hand lay. 

 

“Peter always says, you can never cage a rabid wolf.” Derek caught Stiles's hand and slid their hands together. 

 

“Rabid?” 

 

“Stiles, a few months away from  you? I’ll be going insane.” Derek pulled Stiles’s chair towards him, parting his legs so Stiles slotted between them. “Especially with just Jackson and Danny for company.” Stiles’s chuckle trailed off when Derek leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.  

 

“You know, its always been a fantasy of mine to have sex in a library.” Stiles grinned wickedly. 

 

“Oh really?” Derek smirked quirking an eyebrow, leaning in further to circle his nose around Stiles’s before nipping at his lower lip. 

 

“Really.” Stiles responded by dragging his open mouth across Derek’s as he slid a hand under the his sweater to trace the coarse hair beneath his navel. Derek had just placed his palm over Stiles’s crotch when-

 

 _‘Visitor call. If your ID is called proceed to the visitors room.’_  

 

Derek chuckled at the way Stiles had jumped at the crackle and Stiles scratched at his belly in reprimand.

 

_‘19798, 21990, 22282, 22532,’_

 

They both froze, recognising the first number to be called. Derek’s brow furrowed cutely in confusion as Stiles pulled back blushing as he said-

 

“Uh yeah… that’s probably going to be my dad.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. 
> 
> Finally!! Yay!! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it! I've always wanted to write a prison AU, I hope it was okay! 
> 
> If there is anything that I didn't wrap up well and you wanna know what happened just let me know how i can help :)
> 
> (and pssst, yes Isaac's appeal was successful and Danny Jackson and Stiles all got early parole, oh and the sheriff likes Derek............. eventually, you can thank Peter for that ;))


End file.
